Living A Lie
by Introvertedly-BrownEyed-Writer
Summary: Naomi Jarene Coranda is an average teen, but her grey eyes miss nothing. She sees through lies but has issues trusting the truth. Her entire life has been a lie. She isn't even human. Who are her real parents, and who is the mysterious woman that keeps appearing when something goes wrong? Find out for yourself. Full summary inside. After Silence, way after. Please read and review!
1. Prologue Chapter 1

**Hello, some of you may recognize me, most of you may not. This is my first **_**Hush, Hush **_**fan fiction, though I've had it running through my mind for quite a long while now. Anyway, the summary: **

**Naomi Jarene Coranda is your typical teenager: sixteen, stellar grades, athletic, and unlike most, quiet. She doesn't talk much, but she listens a whole lot, and her eyes miss nothing. Unlike her real mother, she can see through lies and deceptions; it's when people tell the truth that she has trust issues. But hard as she tried, she couldn't see the lie she has lived her whole life. Mr. and Mrs. Coranda aren't her real parents. Coranda isn't her last name. She isn't even **_**human.**_** Her real parents hid her to protect her, though she doesn't believe it. When weird things start occurring, however, will she be forced to believe the truth that she had subconsciously hoped was true? And who is her biology partner really? How is he connected to her past? Why in the world does she get these weird feelings whenever he's around? Does he have the same feelings for her? Can you guess who her real parents are? After **_**Silence…way**_** after.**

Prologue

The rain beat on the windows of the black sedan as the silent, yet anxious couple drove through the storm on the highway of Coldwater, Maine. In the back seat, little coos and gurgles floated towards them, making what they were about to do even worse. The woman was close to tears when they reached their destination. All the while, her husband had been silent, trying to stay strong and showing how much he detested what they were going to do.

"You know how against this I am." It wasn't a question; he was simply stating the obvious.

Not trusting her voice, she merely nodded in acknowledgement, bracing herself for the argument that was sure to come. Not looking at her, he nodded to himself.

"We don't have to do this. I really don't want to do this. I don't want to give her up—,"

"We're not giving her up," his wife interjected. Her voice was barely steady enough to be half convincing. "We're only hiding her until it's safe."

"And when is that going to be? It might never be safe for her! We can hide her. We've been doing just fine. Why do you all of a sudden want to give her to them—,"

"Because I want her to be safe, and where we are, it's not safe for a baby!" his wife shouted. She shook her head and wiped at her eyes. Seeing her tears, he unbuckled his seat belt and hers, sliding her closer to him. She leaned her head on his chest and said, "I don't want anything bad to happen to her. I don't want her involved in any of this. I never had the choice; I was plunged into the middle of it. I don't want the same for her."

He brushed her hair from her face. "I don't either, but I don't want to cut myself out of her life. I don't want her to see me and not know that I'm her father. I want to be a part of her life, not as a stranger, but as her father; her flesh and blood. I want to be there for everything. Teach her how to ride a bike, hear her first word, and see her walk for the first time. See her go to school, help her with math homework, hell, even the sex-talk, I want to be there for it!"

His wife laughed, but it was a tired sound. "So do I, but if we want her to even get to those stages in her life, we have to do this. It's the right thing to do." _I hope…_ she thought.

His face was grim, but he got out of the car. He got his daughter out of the car as well, car seat and all. His wife carried all the bags. Together, they walked up the steps and rang the doorbell of the house they'd pulled up at. The man set the car seat on the floor and took his baby out of it, cradling her gently to his chest. Gray eyes stared back at him, and he realized just how much he was going to miss them.

The door opened then, and a very tired looking couple stared shocked at them.

"What are you two doing h—," the woman started, but the man's wife cut her off.

"We need you to take care of her, please," she pleaded as if she thought they would say no.

The woman's face turned blank, and then a look of understanding dawned on her when she caught sight of the man's grim and tight face. Even though she knew she would be wrong, she asked, "For the whole night…?"

The man's wife gave her a meaningful look. The woman sighed and said softly, "For how long? Will you guys be back?"

The man and his wife shared a look and finally the man answered, "We will be back and until it's safe."

The woman's husband, who stood behind her, said, "We'll guard her with our lives, we swear. After all, I'm not going anywhere no matter what." Though he meant it to be light, it held a dark note over them.

The man and his wife nodded. The man gave his daughter a firm, yet gentle kiss on her forehead, then gave her to her mother. Her mother peppered her face with kisses and sniffled, the tears chocking their way back up again. The man unclasped a plain men's chain from around his neck and placed over his daughter's small head. _So you'll still have a piece of me no matter what, _he thought to her.

His wife saw this exchange and sniffled harder. Turning away, she handed her daughter over to her best and most trusted friends. Silently and on the verge of tears herself, the woman took the baby and said, "You had better be back soon, you hear me?"

Her friend tried to laugh, but it came out as a sob instead. Her husband wrapped on arm around her tight. The baby, startled by the sound, started crying. The woman shushed her and bounced her gently, trying to calm her down.

The sound of her child crying was too much for her. She turned and walked down the driveway to the car. Her husband, with tears rimming his eyes, kissed his daughter's forehead one last time, and then went after his wife. Climbing into the sedan, they drove away with heavy sore hearts.

**It gets confusing at times, I know. But later on in the story, I think, I will replay this with names, just to be nice.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hush, Hush. I only own Naomi Jarene Coranda.**

**Review! Ciao!**

**~Alee B.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey, I'm back. Thanks to lovesong101 for adding my story to her favorites (if you are a girl, I wouldn't want to confuse…), alerts, and for reviewing! Since you were the first one to review, I dedicate this chapter to you! Thanks so much!**

**Anyways, on the very first chapter of any story I write, I review if I get at least one review. On the second chapter (and all the others after that) I raise the expectation to at least two reviews. Any more than that, and I make it a longer chapter! Just keep this in mind for future reference. :)**

**So, here's chapter two. Please review!**

"Naomi," a voice said, jarring me from sleep. "Naooooomiiii." Something touched my shoulder gently. When I didn't do anything, someone shook my shoulder hard. I slapped the hand away and buried my face in my pillow, muttering incomprehensible things into it.

"Naomi, you're going to be late for school," my dad's voice reasoned with me. This made me blink, and I shot up in bed, looking around, disoriented. My eyes raked over my familiar large and spacious bedroom. Purple walls, a large book case blocking a quarter of the southern wall, my full sized bed taking up most of the northern wall, and a small desk on the other side of the room where the door was, taking up only the corner where that wall and the southern wall met. My closet was next to the book case and the rest of the wall with the desk was filled with my drawings and posters.

It was all impeccably neat and organized just how most of my things were. I looked back at my dad, who was wearing an expectant expression on his face. My dad's name was Scott Coranda, though he told me he'd changed his name so that some bad people he'd messed with wouldn't find him. Originally, his name was Scott Parnell. He'd married my mother, Vee Sky—a.k.a, Vee Coranda—when they were about twenty years old.

He works for an aquarium in Coldwater, so he made money, though I don't know how much. I know it probably isn't a lot, though somehow we still manage to have enough money to pay bills and stuff, even though my mother and I don't have jobs.

"What time is it?" I asked groggily, looking over at the digital clock on my bedside table. The red numbers swam into place, telling me that it was five thirty in the morning. I got out of bed and ran to my closet, grabbing a pair of jeans and a black tee shirt. I heard my dad leave my room and thump his way down stairs. I grabbed my necessities and hurried into the bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind me.

Coming out fifteen minutes later, dry and clothed, I combed through my black hair with a comb, praying that it would behave today. I walked downstairs, greeting my parents as I grabbed a plate of cheerios.

"Morning, momma, morning daddy," I said to them cheerfully around a mouthful of cheerios.

"Morning, babe," my mom greeted me, giving me a one-armed hug as she made her way to the other side of the table.

"Good morning, sweetie," my dad mumbled. He was busy reading a letter that had probably come in the mail today. His face showed concern and worry; not an expression he would usually wear…unless it involved me. I learned from past experience. When my dad was called to school because I had thrown up, I watched his face as the nurse told him what had happened. It was the exact same expression he had on now, and has had countless times in situations that involved me and bad news.

"Whatever that letter says that I did in school is not true," I told him jokingly. "You know school; they like to see kids in trouble. That's why they have so many rules."

When his face didn't show any acknowledgement to my comments at all, I knew it was something serious.

"…Is it about my tests?" I asked hesitantly. Last month, I had to take a few tests because of a heart problem I had been born with. We were promised results to come about a month or more after the test and still haven't gotten them yet. The results were supposed to tell us if my heart problem is life-threatening—whether it was life-threatening now, or would be later.

Dad's head snapped up. "What? No, this isn't the test results…. This is something else…" he trailed off, making me even more curious. I shrugged it off; they'd tell me about it later. Scooping out the last of my cheerios, I put my bowl in the sink and rinsed it. Drying my hands on my jeans, I reached for my car keys, sweater, and backpack.

I shouted a goodbye to my parents and walked out the front door, into the thick fog. I threw my backpack into the passenger seat of my small Volkswagen and sat in the driver's seat. Rubbing my cold hands together and blowing on them for warmth, I put the key into the ignition and started the car up. I carefully peeled out of my driveway and started the drive to school.

With one hand on my steering wheel and my arm resting on the window of the driver's side door, I hummed to myself, going through my normal routine in my head. Go to school, take my math test, turn in English homework, run the around the track in P.E., and go to biology. My best friend Sarah and I had studied for our math test the late the night before, which is probably why I was so tired this morning.

Sarah is the more outgoing of the two of us. She knows her limits, though, which is a good thing from what my mom told me about her days in high school. She said that her best friend, Nora Grey, was also quiet like me, except differently. She didn't exactly explain what she meant by different, and I hadn't pressed the subject. Sarah thought I was pretty quiet, too, but she said it wasn't really a bad thing. She told me it made me look predatory, almost.

Arriving at my high school, I parked in a parking space that was close enough to the school's main doors. Climbing out of the Volkswagen, I hurried to get out of the cold and into the slightly less cold of the school's indoor hallways.

"Naomi!" I turned towards the shout that unmistakably belonged to my best friend, Sarah Leann Johnson. I smiled at her, but said nothing. Unfazed and used to my silence, she hooked her arm through mine and steered us to our first period class, almost at the end of the main hallway. "So, do you think we're ready for the math test? I mean, I know you are, but do you think I am?"

I smiled reassuringly at Sarah and bumped her shoulder, submitting the silent message of, _Of course you are, don't worry; you'll get through this._

She let out a relieved sigh. "Thanks, I'm glad you think so."

Sarah and I have been best friends since kindergarten, when she saw that I was always sitting alone and never saying anything unless spoken to. I was used to being alone, and was bewildered and confused when the cheerful brunette sat by me at recess on the wall of our class room and started talking to me, asking me questions about silly things like my name and my favorite color. She is, was, and always will be, the only friend I have in the world that puts up with me and my silence.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not a loner; I have other friends, but they don't hang around me much, especially since I'm so quiet and don't offer my opinion on anything. Sarah doesn't mind, she likes to talk, and she knows my situation. I'm just…different. I always have been, and no matter what I do, I know I always will be. I feel it, other kids have felt it; heck, even the teachers feel it! I'm not the same as what they are on the inside, and on the outside as well, if you compare me to the average girl, you can see it. It sounds vain—believe me, I know—but I have a beauty that looks angelic yet looks dark as well. What a dark angel I would be.

We walked in the math classroom, silencing any and all conversation in the room. They stared at me, and I met their stares with my own cool and calm one. _I don't care what you say or think about me, _my gaze said, _I'm here for a reason and it doesn't concern you._

I made my way to my seat, stepping over the outstretched feet of Mary Swayne and Felicia Charter. They let out frustrated huffs and I knew without looking that they were pouting at each other. Mary and Felicia were Sarah and mines enemies. Ever since we were little, they always hated us, slamming us into lockers in the seventh grade, stealing our snacks at recess in the first grade, and so on. We never knew what made them act this way toward us, and while I wanted to know, I knew better than to press the issue. Not because I was scared of Mary or Felicia—because, in all honesty, I could easily beat both of them single handedly—but because there were just some things in the world that were better left alone and unsaid.

Our teacher started passing out the hand sheets for the test and I automatically ran through the lessons I studied last night. Instinctively, I reached for my necklace, which hung from my neck; just a plain silver men's chain that was slightly tarnished from long years of duration. I've had it on for as long as I can remember, and from what my mom has told me, even longer before that. I had always wondered where I had gotten it from, but I just assumed it was from an uncle or a cousin or something. Whoever had given it to me was probably long gone in my memory, but nonetheless, I had a strong attachment to the necklace, never taking it off for anything except a shower.

"Okay class, you have until the end of the period to finish the test. On your mark, get set, go!"

I immediately started answering questions smoothly and certainly, finishing the fifty question test in a half hour, double-checking my work and sending Sarah a thumbs up to wish her luck when she sent me a helpless look. Setting my page to the side face-down, I sat back in my seat and watched my classmates work on their tests. Some of them had math books hidden under their desks, or supposed cheat-sheets to copy off of, and some of them were even copying off each other. Our teacher saw none of this, or if he did, he didn't show it.

A half an hour passed by and the bell finally rang, dismissing students from their first periods and ushering them to their second periods. I grabbed my bag and followed Sarah as we exited the room and walked out into the hectic hallways.

"Ugh, I think I bombed this test," Sarah groaned, covering her eyes with gloved hands. "But if I'm lucky, and somewhere out there someone is looking out for me, I passed it."

I rolled my eyes and waved to her as we headed to our separate classes. This was where we separated and didn't reunite until fifth period, which just so happened to be art, my favorite class of the day. I draw to express myself, just like singers sing or play music to express different feelings and emotions. Drawing is my passion outlet, and I use it every chance I get.

Done with second and third period and heading on to fourth, I was walking down the hall when it happened. Some guy out of nowhere just runs and slams straight into me. He knocks me over and falls with me, landing on top of me and knocking the air right out of my lungs with his weight. We both just laid there, me staring at him like an idiot, him staring at me wide-eyed like he wasn't sure I was really underneath him or not.

He had dark brown hair that fell into his green eyes, tan skin, and a muscular build that I could both feel from where I was crushed underneath him and see through his tight gray tee shirt. Some sense flooded back into my mind as a crowd started to gather around us and I pushed him off me, trying my hardest not to blush.

"Get off me," I snapped as I got up. The crowd around us gasped, shocked that I had actually spoken out loud for the first time in school. Well, it wasn't really the first time I'd ever spoken in school, but you know how we teenagers are; we like to exaggerate the truth.

"Uh, I'm so sorry about that, I was just—," he started, but I didn't let him finish.

"I don't care what you were doing, just don't run into me again, got it?" I didn't wait for an answer. I turned on my heel and pushed my way through the crowd that was still gaping at me. I walked into my English class and pulled out my notebook angrily, trying to block out the scene that kept replaying in my mind over and over again. I couldn't shake the image of his handsome face and his moss green eyes, raking over every detail of my face as I did the same with his.

I shook my head in an attempt to clear it, and concentrated on my work. The whole period went by agonizingly slow, and when the bell rang, I was the first one out of the room, even though I was in the back. I walked to Sarah's locker and smiled at her, and then we walked to the cafeteria together. Lunch and lunch break went by even faster than I thought it would and by the time my mind came back to the present, we were already walking into art class.

Sarah and I sat in our assigned seats, which were positioned in front of easels, and waited for our teacher to start class. When she did, she said nothing; she just wrote the prompt on the chalkboard and sat in her desk, looking at us. The prompt was:_ paint, sketch, or draw the most beautiful scenery you can imagine._

Well, I think I could do that. Grabbing one of the freshly sharpened pencils on the easel, I tapped the eraser on the tip of my nose, thinking. I closed my eyes and the first thing I thought of was a waterfall. A waterfall that was cascading down into a large pond-like thing that looked calm where it was furthest from the where the water fell into the pond. All around the waterfall was a large landscape of green that was filled with wildlife. Bushes rustled with the rabbits popping in and out of their burrows and tree leaves rustled from the birds nesting and feeding in their high branches.

Keeping this picture in my mind, I started sketching. The outline of the trees was done in five minutes. The outline of mist from the waterfall was done in ten due to how difficult it is to draw mist that doesn't look like one big blocky cloud. The waterfall itself was done in ten minutes, and so were the animals and the pond. Finishing the sketch, I started making the real drawing, making lines more defined and adding more complex detail. About a half hour of this later and I was finally done with the drawing, trying to shade with my fingers and earning black smudges on my hands.

When the class period was over, I wrote my signature on the bottom right corner of the page and ripped the page out carefully to turn it in to the teacher. She smiled when I handed her my drawing and said, "Your drawings never cease to amaze me, Naomi. Excellent job."

Now, it was time for sixth period: biology. This was not one of my favorite classes, mostly because I sometimes struggled with it and the teacher gave us too much homework. My mom told me that the coach of the varsity basketball team **(I might be wrong; I don't have the book with me at the moment, only an audio book) **used to teach the biology class. Now, some lady in her thirties teaches it. I often find myself wishing that the coach would come back and teach us like before.

Sarah isn't in this class with me, so that makes it even harder for me. If she were in this class, I wouldn't be almost getting a B instead of an A+. Even though my parents don't expect stellar straight As, I feel as though I should give them something to be proud of me for. Don't get me wrong, I know my parents are proud of me; it's just that I feel as if their pride is misplaced. Like it isn't supposed to be their pride that I'm getting.

I don't get what the feeling means, and I try not to pay attention to it, but it's still there sometimes, lurking in the back of my mind. Sitting down at the table I sit alone at, I leaned back in my chair and sighed, resting my folded hands on the table. The tardy bell rung and someone ran through the door in time with it. I sat up straighter as I realized that it was the same guy that ran into me in the hallway.

"Uh, I'm new here," I heard him mumble to the teacher as he handed her his schedule for her to sign. She signed it and slid it back to him.

"Yes, you'll be sitting over there, next to her," she said. When I looked up, I saw her bony finger pointing directly at me. Great, just _great._ I ignored the flutters in my stomach as he walked down the aisle, getting winks and waves from the other girls in the class. He ignored each and every one of them, keeping his green eyes locked on my grey ones.

I kept my face expressionless as he sat next to me, slowly getting things out of his back pack, and setting them on his desk. He breathed out a long sigh before turning to look at me slightly. I kept my gaze steadily on the chalkboard ahead, not daring to meet his eyes, afraid that if I did, I wouldn't be able to look away.

Whoa, what? What the heck was this? Was I truly afraid of looking someone in the eye and meeting their gaze like I do every day? Who was this guy, and how was he making me feel this way? There was only one way to find out, but I didn't really want to speak out twice today and cause excitement—or worse, rumors—to fly around school. I sighed and looked down at my empty notebook page.

Grabbing my pencil, I started sketching again, this time drawing _them._ The man and the women, who still remain nameless and have been haunting my dreams and mind since I was little. I can't really explain, but I have this strong and mysterious connection to them; like I've met them before, once upon a time. I've been drawing them since I was old enough to hold a pencil, awkwardly and undistinguishable at first, then gradually getting better as I grew older and gained more coordination.

The man has black hair and black eyes that, at first glance, seemed to assess you before you could assess the owner. With a muscular build and sharp features, he looked almost Italian. The woman had brown hair that looked red in the sunlight and was crazily curly and frizzy, like mine. She had gray eyes, also like mine, and long legs, again like I did. It always strikes me as odd and weird that they both looked so much like me. Or that I looked so much like them. Either way, it was really weird. I had black frizzy curly hair, long legs, grey eyes, and a dark complexion that resembled the man's. I also had the same eye shape that the man had.

I shaded in the man, having already finished drawing him. It wasn't until I started drawing the woman's figure that the guy next to me spoke.

"Wow, you draw really good." I felt his warm breath tickle my ear and looked up at him. He was leaning in close, but not too close, to see my drawing, which I was partially hunched over to draw better. I flashed a small smile in thanks and lowered my eyes back down to my drawing. Now, I was drawing the woman's thick curls, making sure each individual curl looked thick enough and had enough color in them.

"How did you learn how to draw like that?" the guy asked me. It seemed as though he wouldn't let up. I shrugged and wrote on the side of my paper that wasn't being used for my drawing, _I didn't._

He raised his eyebrows. "Really? I would think learning how to draw like that would require lessons or something." I shook my head at him and bit my lip. Returning to my drawing, I frowned in slight concentration. Not was the hard part: drawing her eyes. Because her eyes were blue gray like mine, I had to try really hard not to accidentally draw into her irises and make them blackish gray.

"You don't really talk much, do you?" I looked up at him. He had a wry face like he already knew my answer. I narrowed my eyes. It seemed he wasn't going to back down until I talked. And he seemed pretty determined to get me to do so.

So, instead of giving him what he wanted, I only shook my head no, a smirk only a few seconds away from reaching my lips. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him shake his head and smile to himself. Huh, glad I amused him.

"Do you ever talk?" I nodded. "To who?" I wrote on my paper, _my mom, my dad, my best friend, myself…etc._ "_That's_ it?" _Pretty much. _He gave a low whistle. The teacher looked up once to see who had done it, her eyes immediately skipping over me, already knowing that I wouldn't have done it. It's weird how most kids are known for the things they do, or what they say, but _I'm_ known for the things I _don't _do and _don't _say.

"I'm Bryan, by the way," the guy said, holding out his hand to shake. He had a slight smirk on his face, though I knew why. He thought he had me trapped, he thought that I would have to talk just because it was the polite thing to do. Well, I'm not above doing the rude thing when it comes to winning people who think they can break my silence. Believe me; people have tried, that's why I'm school-wide-known. Normally, I'd have been known in a few classes, regardless of rumors, but like I said, people have tried and reported their failures.

I shook his hand and promptly wrote down: _I'm Naomi,_ on my paper. While I couldn't hear it, I felt him breathe the softest of sighs.

"Are you ever going to talk to anyone other than them?" Bryan gestured to the list I had written on my paper. I shook my head and smiled to show that I was joking. "Not even to me?" Now I was grinning. I shook my head again, and he smiled back at me. "Well, you mark my words; I _will _get you to talk to me. I'll work on it some more tomorrow."

My heart thumped faster in my chest and heat came to my cheeks. I had a feeling he wasn't kidding. The bell rang and I jumped, gathered my stuff in my back pack and walked out the door. Before I walked even twenty steps from the class room, I heard Bryan yell in the hallway where everybody heard it, "See you tomorrow, Naomi!"

I spun around and saw him grinning at me all the way in the middle of the hallway across from the one I was walking down. I shook my head, grinning slightly despite myself, and waved pointedly at him before turning around. My heart was pumping faster than normal and I had flutters in my stomach. And weirdest of all, I found myself smiling the whole drive home, looking forward to tomorrow.

**So, what do you think? Please review and I apologize for any mistakes in here.**

**I don't own Hush, Hush.**

**Ciao!**

**~Alee B.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hi, it's me again! Special thanks to **_**im a dinosaur. FEAR me, lovesong101**_**, and **_**Imari **_**for reviewing on my story! You guys are awesome! This is for you guys. Review please.**

The smile remained on my face the entire drive home. As hard as I tried, it refused to slip off my face, despite who'd put it there. Pulling up into my drive way, I cut off the engine and stepped out into the rain, shivering as it hit the bare skin of my arms. I hadn't put on my sweater, not wanting to bother for the short dash to the porch. I jogged around my car and up the porch steps, unlocking the door with my house key.

I silently stepped in, shutting the door behind me and drying my shoes on the mat just inside the door. I walked slowly into the living room, but hid behind the door as I saw my mom talking on the phone on the couch. Eavesdropping isn't something I usually do, but I heard mom say my name. Hiding behind the wall was completely instinctual.

"It's been going on for years," mom said. "I'm starting to worry she might suspect something! I mean, she looks nothing like Scott and me, she doesn't act like us, and she draws you two all the time! You have to see yourselves to believe it. I want you two to come over within this or next week. What do you mean, it could be dangerous? You told me yourself that it was over! _For the time being? _No, I'm not taking no for an answer. You two had better come within the next week, or I will tell her myself!"

And with that, she hung up the phone. I heard her sigh in frustration and that's when I stepped out. She looked up at me, startled, and I saw her face darken with color. I pointed to myself with a questioning and warning look that said, _Was that about ME?_

Mom rubbed the side of her face and pushed her blond hair away from her eyes. "Don't worry about it," she said tiredly, "you'll find out soon enough." Something about the way she said that told me it was something she would make certain would happen.

I nodded and went upstairs to start my homework. I was working for about an hour on homework before I finally finished it. I just couldn't concentrate. My mother's conversation with the unknown person kept revolving through my head. Who was supposed to come within this week and the next? What was so dangerous that they made excuses? I don't recall drawing anyone my mother knew. She didn't know the man and the woman…. At lease I don't think she does. She would've told me if she did. Right?

What were they supposed to tell me? I groaned and fell back against the headboard of my bed. Now that I didn't have homework, I had nothing to do at all. Except draw…or explore. And with that thought, I got up and grabbed my sweater, shrugging it on as I thumped my way down the stairs. I didn't feel like talking to my mom right now, so I just left a sticky note on the counter saying I went out to search around in the woods a little.

Our house was close the old farmhouse on Hawthorne Lane. It was still pretty far away, but running as fast as I could, I could make it there in five or six minutes. I didn't feel like running either, so I just jogged, listening to the crunch of gravel under my sneakers, the sound of my breath coming out of my mouth, and the sound of birds chirping still, even though it was almost sunset. I looked around appreciatively as I jogged, enjoying the fresh tree smell, the mist that was settling around me and the forest. I wasn't worried that I would get lost; I had my cell phone, and I knew my way around these woods well enough.

I stopped jogging when I reached the tree stump that told me I'd reached the middle of the woods. When I was little, I used to come here with my dad. He never let me go past the tree stump and I'd always wondered why. Now, I was ready to find out. I walked at a leisurely pace around the wide stump, and continued down the woods, looking around and stuffing my hands in my sweater pockets.

Eventually, I saw a large form through the mist. As I got closer, I recognized it as the farmhouse. The barn was a little to the left behind it, though I wasn't interested in what was in it. Instead, I walked past it and went around to the front of the farmhouse. Rumors said that nobody lived in it anymore because it was haunted. Of course, those were rumors, automatically untrue in my opinion. I like the solid and real truth, which I was going to find out now, I hoped.

Rounding the corner, I stopped in my tracks when I found a small VW Jetta in the driveway. Well, nice car, but who's was it? I shook my head and frowned slightly. Walking up the driveway, I hesitated on the porch steps. Then, I squared my shoulders and walked up to the door, knocking three times on the wooden door.

I was shocked and surprised when someone actually answered the door. A woman, with light brown hair, brown eyes, and a thin frame looked back at me with an expression that I was pretty sure was on my face as well. She was short, only coming up to my shoulder, and she had a few wrinkles on her otherwise flawless face.

"Can I help you, dear?" the woman asked in a soft, kind voice.

"Um, I was just wandering around, and I wanted to know who lived here. People said nobody did, but you know how rumors are," I gave her a wry knowing smile.

"Oh, trust me; I do know how they are." She mirrored my wry smile. "Would you like to come in, dear?" She opened the door wider as an invitation. I opened my mouth to protest, but eventually just shrugged and nodded. I wasn't exactly sure what had made me talk to her—especially since I hardly talk to anybody—but I felt as if I already knew her from somewhere. I just couldn't place where or how.

She ushered me into her house, leading me into the living room and sitting me down on the couch. She offered me tea or hot chocolate, but I politely declined the offer, stating that I probably couldn't stay long. She sat down on the loveseat beside the couch I was sitting on and tried to strike up a conversation.

"My name is Blythe Grey," she said, holding her hand out for me to shake. I took it with a smile.

"I'm Naomi." Blythe looked up from the cup of tea she was about to take a sip from and stared at me.

"You wouldn't happen to have a middle name, would you?" she asked me in a strange voice.

I frowned slightly and said, "Yes…it's Jarene. Why do you ask?"

She gasped and her hands fluttered up to cover her mouth in shock. Blythe's eyes looked me up and down, calculating me from my head to my toes.

"Blythe, is there something wrong?" If she noticed the concern in my voice, she didn't show it.

"You don't remember me, sweetheart?" she asked me, hope strong in her voice. I wasn't sure what to say. She looked familiar, but what would that mean to her? I didn't know how she looked familiar to me, or why, and this was the first time I'd ever met her. Wasn't it?

"Uh, you look familiar, but this is the first time I've ever met you, Blythe. I'm sorry if that wasn't the answer you were hoping for, but it's true. I've never met you before now in my life," I told her. But as I said the last part, my jaw twitched, something it did when I told a lie. And lying wasn't something I did often. Was it true that I actually have met Blythe before? Did I just not remember, or something? Whatever it was, I made a mental note to figure it out—sooner rather than later.

"Ah, I see. Of course, I just—well, never mind," Blythe said, sounding defeated. I felt an odd need to make her feel better, to make her laugh or smile; anything to keep her from being sad. But I pushed those feelings down and looked at the clock. It was just past eight thirty.

"Well, it was very nice meeting you, Blythe, but I must be going. It's getting late, and I'm sure my mother is going to be wondering why I'm not home, yet," I said. I was surprised to realize that I actually meant the first words. I actually was happy to have met her.

"Oh, you have to leave so soon?" she looked sad to see me go, but she must've known that I really had to leave. I nodded and turned to go, but she asked me one last question.

"Who is your mother?"

I hesitated one second, but then said, "Vee Coranda; my mother is Vee Coranda."

Blythe pursed her lips, but then nodded. "Goodbye, I hope you'll visit me again, soon."

"Of course I will, as soon as I have time again, I'll drop by for a visit. Goodbye and goodnight!"

She waved at me until I disappeared around the corner of the house. Shaking my head, I looked around at the now dark and eerie looking woods. I was supposed to walk an entire mile through these trees without getting lost or mauled by a bear. Easy, right? If you say so.

So, starting the long trek home in the cold, merciless mist, I began to let my mind wander. The image of Bryan's face came into my mind. I closed my eyes briefly, and smiled in the darkness. Opening my eyes again, I could've sworn I saw something blur in my peripheral vision, but when I whipped my head around to look, there was nothing there. I could see well in the dark, so I was sure with one glance that there was nothing in that spot. But I couldn't be too sure about the rest of the forest surrounding me.

If someone were to try to kill me, they'd certainly picked the right place to get me alone. I was far enough away from both my house and the farmhouse that nobody would hear me if I screamed. I could fight the person—if there actually was a person—and run the rest of the way home as fast as I could, getting me there in a little less than four minutes, where my dad would be ready to fight off the person. I was prepared. Though, I didn't feel any danger.

It felt as though someone was…watching over me. Keeping me safe from harm. I didn't know what it meant, but I knew that I felt irrationally safe. Shaking my head again, I walked a little faster in the direction of my house. Soon, the feeling disappeared as if it were mist that all of a sudden just dissolved. And as the safe feeling vanished, a cold, heart-stopping feeling settled in.

I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand straight up, and the muscles along my shoulders grew stiff and rigid. I was only a short run from the house by now. I could make a dash through the thick mist and enter the house, getting away from the feeling that was haunting me. As I considered this idea, the feeling grew stronger and I heard running footsteps. It wasn't until I reached the door that I realized they were _my_ footsteps.

I leaned my head against the cold wood of the front door, not going inside just yet. What was that? I was pretty sure the feeling was more than just a change of temperature. I was starting to think maybe somebody _was_ following me. But that didn't explain the feeling of safety that I had felt just moments before the feeling of dread—for lack of a better word—filled me entirely.

No; it wasn't dread. It was like, instead of someone watching over me, they were… _targeting_ me. Like if I had stayed any longer than I had, they would shoot me. I chuckled humorlessly; sometimes, you just have to laugh to keep from crying. Letting go of a shaky breath I hadn't known I was holding, I opened the door and slowly stepped inside.

My mother and father were sitting together on the couch, watching a_ Lifetime_ movie that I vaguely remembered wanting to see. Oh well, I could watch it later. They both looked up at me at the same time, sporting smiles when they saw I was okay. If only they knew what was really going on inside my head.

"Hey, baby," my mom said, brushing her blond hair from her face. I smiled at her and waved. I was home now; safe. Nobody could hurt me here. So why didn't I feel that way? Why did I still feel like I had to be alert?

"Come on, sit down and watch the movie with us," dad said, scooting over to make space for me.

"What about school?" I asked. The truth was, I really did want to stay with them, but I couldn't shake off the feeling that the person was still here somewhere.

"Eh," my mom scoffed, "Forget school. Besides, it's Thursday; you don't have to go to bed just yet."

I shrugged and sat down beside my dad. He put an arm around my shoulders, putting his other one around mom. I laid my head on his shoulder, sighing tiredly.

"You okay? You sound tired," dad said. I shrugged and turned my attention to the movie. It was one of those old fashioned ones, with black and white colors and everything. Why had I wanted to see this movie again?

A half hour later, the movie was over and I was left staring at the credits. We all simultaneously yawned, making us laugh in the middle of our yawns. I stood up and stretched, hearing my joints pop and crack. "Well, goodnight you guys," I said to them. They mumbled a 'goodnight' back.

I swooped down and kissed them both on the cheek. "I love you guys." Out of the corner of my eye, I saw them exchange a look. My mind immediately flashed back to the phone call I had overheard. What was it they were so determined to keep from me? And who was going to tell me?

"We love you, too, sweetheart. Goodnight," my mom called after me as I jogged upstairs. Changing into some flannel pj's and brushing my teeth, I flopped onto my bed and turned out the lights. Breathing out a sigh, I closed my eyes and fell asleep.

~O~

(_Monday)_

"What's your favorite color?"

_I like black, red, and purple._

"Still not going to talk to me, NJ?"

I froze. Sixth period had started off as a game of Twenty Questions, apparently, and Bryan has been firing questions at me in hopes that I would break down and talk. This morning, I was surprised to find him in my second period P.E. class. We had played soccer, and we were on opposite teams, going head to head against each other. My team had won, of course, making him even more determined to try to bother me into talking as revenge.

_Did you just call me NJ? _I wrote.

"And if I did?" his tone had an undercurrent of smugness to it.

_I don't like it. Where did you get it from?_

"Well, from your initials of course. 'N' for Naomi, and 'J' for your middle name." He said it slowly as if he were talking to a small child.

I looked up at him, eyebrows drawn low in a frown, my eyes wide and distrusting. _I've never mentioned my middle name to you. I never even said I had one._

He looked up at me after reading what I wrote, a hint of nervousness in his eyes. "Aw, NJ, I think you're forgetting things. You have told me your middle name before; you just don't remember," he lied smoothly. But I could tell he was lying to me. While he showed no outside signs of lying, his voice was that of someone who was trying to cover up a mistake.

I glared at him, showing that I didn't believe him at all. _Liar, _I mouthed. The bell rang, and I grabbed my notebook and backpack, walking briskly out the door. Why would Bryan lie to me? What reason did he have to lie about knowing my middle name? Or, maybe he was right and I actually _did_ tell him my middle name. Maybe I really just didn't remember it.

I smacked the heel of my palm into my forehead. No; I know that I didn't tell him. I had only met him about five days ago, last week on Thursday. On Friday, he'd asked me for my cell phone number, which I had reluctantly given him. I hadn't mentioned my middle name _once_ in those short days.

Which brings me back to the question, how did he know my middle name? And why did he have to lie about how he knew it? I pondered these questions the entire drive home, wondering again and again. It wasn't until I pulled up at the house that I stopped thinking about it. Shutting off the engine and slamming the door shut, I jogged up the porch steps and into the house.

Muttering a quick hello to my mom, I went upstairs to start homework. After an hour's worth of homework, I finally finished. Just because I wanted to, I flung my math book across the room, blew a raspberry at it, and walked down the stair to where my mom was sitting on the couch with a mug of hot chocolate in her hands.

I sat beside her, remembering how she'd been throwing up all weekend long. Whatever stomach bug she had, it didn't look like it was going away soon. She also appeared to be gaining weight. It wasn't that noticeable, but I didn't miss how her stomach had started to get a little bigger.

"Are you feeling better?" I asked her softly, laying a hand on her forehead. She didn't have a fever.

"Not really," she groaned. "So how has school been? Any cute boys I should know about?" Mom wagged her eyebrows playfully. I blushed, an image of Bryan coming to mind immediately. "Ooooh, you're blushing!" Mom bounced excitedly on the couch a couple of times. "What's his name? Never mind, forget his name, what does he look like? Tell me! Is he dumb? Smart? Muscular or lanky? Tall or short? Is he a bad boy, or an angel—?"

She stopped abruptly after she said angel. Her face was taut as if she'd accidentally said something she wasn't supposed to.

To distract her, I said, "Well, his name is Bryan. He's pretty smart, he's funny, muscular, tall, and he can be either one. He's actually a little bit of both. He can be bad, but he looks like an angel. Meaning, he's angelical and bad at the same time. Ugh, I can't explain it right. He's just… I don't know. Bryan is just confusing and mysterious. And I think that's what draws me closer and closer to him."

I shut my mouth with an audible snap. I hadn't meant to say so much to her. I couldn't believe I'd admitted this much to her when I hadn't even admitted it to myself. But this is my _mother_ I'm talking about here. I can tell her anything. After all, that's part of what mothers are for, right? Guidance and advice.

Mom was just staring at me with a dreamy expression on her face, as if she were remembering something. I wondered if she had felt the same way about dad once upon a time. So, instead of stopping, I decided that since I was already this far, I might as well go all the way.

"He has green eyes that I sometimes get lost in. A really pretty green, like the trees in the summer when they're greenest. Just being near him can make my stomach go all fluttery inside. I've never felt this way before. And I'm not exactly sure these feelings are a good thing or a bad thing."

Satisfied that I'd gotten it all off my chest, I slouched into the couch beside my mother. She leaned against me, too, still dazed. Everything was so quiet I almost jumped at the sound of her voice when she spoke again.

"I had a friend in high school, my best friend Nora Grey—I told you about her didn't I?—had a crush on the transfer student. At first, she was scared of him, but then, started falling for him. In my eyes, there was something wrong with him and he had a few screws loose. He was a psychopath, but she still loved him.

"Eventually, she was kidnapped by somebody. I thought for sure it was him, but he was just as frantic as we were. I realized he really did care about her. Three months later, she was found in the cemetery, a really big part of her memory gone. She didn't even remember him. But then, Nora finally got her memory back and they got married. I have no idea how they got Nora's mom to let them do it, but they did.

"And they've been happily married for about seventeen, almost eighteen years now. But my point is she was the same way. She wanted to figure out this guy, and by doing so, she found trouble. But she also found love. I just want you to be careful, okay, sweetheart?"

She looked at me as if she were actually waiting for my answer. I smiled and nodded at her. I was fascinated by Nora Grey's story. It was just so unexpected, especially for such a normal person like the girl mom described.

"On a brighter note," my mom continued, "I have some very great news!" I nodded to her, telling her to continue. "I found out today that… I'm _pregnant!"_

I immediately started screaming and jumping up and down in joy. "Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh! I can't believe it! Are you sure? Oh my god! This is so great! I can't believe I'm going to be an older sister soon!" I laughed and screamed in joy. Somewhere in the middle of this, dad came home, walking in on our little jumping fest.

"What's going on, girls?" he asked us, arching an eyebrow. We bounced over to him and mom shouted to him.

"I'm pregnant, honey! You're going to be a father!" She smiled until she saw my confused face. "Again! I meant you're going to be a father _again!"_ She smiled again, but it wasn't as bright as before.

Dad was frozen. He kept looking back and forth between mom's stomach and her face. He lifted his hands to her stomach, placing them lightly on the bump her stomach had become. "I'm gonna be a father? Again, I mean?"

Mom nodded, and I saw tears in her eyes. "That's right, baby. You're going to be a father and I'm going to be a mother. Again."

I decided that now was probably the time to retreat to my room for the night. Backing away from my dazed parents, I turned and silently went up the stairs. Would this mean I would have to compete for attention once the baby was born? I didn't want to have to compete for attention, but I knew the baby would need the attention way more than I would. Besides, I would be giving the baby just as much attention.

Climbing into bed, I closed my eyes, sighing in frustration as Bryan's image appeared once again on the insides of my eyelids. I guess there was no denying it now: in the short time I'd known the guy, I was already falling for him. But how hard I would fall was still yet to be figured out.

I also couldn't stop thinking about the mysterious presence I kept feeling. Ever since the night in the woods, the feeling followed me around in the most unexpected places. I even felt it once at school. But that was only once. I haven't felt it there since. But everywhere else was fair game. There was no telling where I'd feel it next.

Shutting my eyes closed tightly, I reached for my iPod and cranked the volume up as far as I could without hurting my ears. I fell asleep to the sound of Adam Gontier's voice.

**So, what do you think? Please review. And spread the word of this story to other readers, too, please! **

**Disclaimer: I don't own **_**Hush, Hush. **_**I only own Naomi and Bryan. And the future baby! **

**Ciao!**

**~Alee B.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hey guys, sorry for taking so long to update, it's been a hectic short week. But, I have a new chapter, obviously. Thanks to all who reviewed! You guys are awesome!**

**Please review! I don't own anything but the plot and Naomi and Byan. Anything you recognize from Hush, Hush isn't mine.**

* * *

><p>"I'm sorry."<p>

Those were the first words that Bryan said to me when I emerged from the girls' locker room in our second period. I ignored him, walking straight to the track starter line, like Coach Valencia told us to when we arrived in the gymnasium. Despite the cold, we—meaning all the girls—were only wearing our gym shorts and t-shirts. The air was heavy, and there was a thick fog veiling the track grounds. However, Iknew the track grounds by heart.

I knelt into the ready position, adrenaline pumping through my veins already. Still ignoring Bryan, I waited for everyone to get into their spots. Bryan knelt beside me, apologizing over and over again to me, but as guilty as I felt about ignoring him, I was still wary of him—especially since he'd lied to me. Coach came up to our kneeling forms, whistle in hand.

"You are to run around the track four times. Try not to stop. You aren't going to be timed for this, but still try to pace yourself. Good luck!" She blew her whistle,and I shot off like a rocket effortlessly, leaving Bryan, confused and shocked, behind with his apologies.

Running is always easy for me. It comes as naturally as breathing. I do it a lot when I'm stressed out about something, but there are times when I just want to get up and run for no reason. To me, I don't really need a reason to run; I just do.

I was keeping a steady, easy pace, already done with my first lap. I could hear ragged breaths coming from far behind me. I risked a glance back, and my stomach dropped. Bryan was running as fast as he could, trying to catch up to me. No doubt to keep apologizing to me.

I briefly considered slowing down and saving him the heart attack, but then I mentally shook my head. I was going to show him why people didn't even bother trying to catch up to me. I'm the fastest person in my class. And not just in my class—in a lot of other classes too. Almost every class in CHS, but a few haven't even bothered to try. Many guys have tried to beat me at running, but I'm always faster than them, injuring their pride and probably shrinking my chances of getting a date to the junior prom next year. Not that I really cared about getting asked to the prom, especially by those guys.

So I sped up my pace, leaving him behind again. I saw him smirk and pick up his own pace, too. I frowned to myself and went a little bit faster. The fact that he was this fast didn't bother me; I'd faced guys way faster and still beat them. It was his smirk that bothered me—and not from pettiness.

It wasn't an oh-wow-you're-really-going-to-do-that?-smirk. It was an I-know-what-you're-up-to-kind of smirk. Like he knew something I didn't. And I didn't even know what I was doing to make him smirk like that. A feeling of confusion and frustration settled in my stomach. Ugh, why must the male species be so complicated? Of course, I'm sure they say the same about the female species….

I still had a little more than a lap on him, but I could tell that he'd try to catch up if I slowed down. So I didn't. Instead, I sped up, leaving my old fast jog and turning into an actual run. I puffed out breaths and breathed in through my nose, the ponytail I'd made in the locker room bouncing around to the beat of my steps. I heard Bryan's steps fade away as I went onto my third lap.

Looking behind me, I saw a faint form through the fog. It was Bryan of course, but this time, he was catching up. I decided I would slow down to let him catch up and hear what he has to say and then go run past him to the finish line. I felt bad that I would be leaving him behind again, but I tried to brush off the feeling. Besides, I only had one more lap to go that I could easily run in less than a minute.

I could hear him panting as I slowed down and he came up beside me. I wasn't even winded, breathing as if I were walking, but a little faster. I was jogging now, but he seemed to be still running as fast as he could. I couldn't see how fast we were going due to the thick fog, but judging from how fast his legs were moving and how easy it was for mine to move, I'd say we were moving pretty fast.

I reached out one arm, concerned by how hard and raggedly he was breathing. When I touched his shoulder, I nearly snatched it back. An electrical shock ran up my arm upon contact, sending warmth and adrenaline into my body. As if I needed anymore. Shaking off the feeling, I moved my hand up to his chin and guided his head to face me. I sent him a concerned look that said, are you okay?

"I'm…fine…" he huffed out, though I could tell it took him a lot of effort. I moved my hand to his chest and pushed him back a little, not stopping him, but showing him a message; take it easy.

He huffed wordlessly and picked up his pace. So, I decided I was done staying behind. I took off again to stay within record time. Coach was already waiting to congratulate me when I reached the finish line. She gave me a pat on the back and walked off to the other side of the finish line to congratulate everyone else when they passed.

I waited with her but on the other side of the line. I gave everyone who finished a high-five and a smile, but it quickly turned into a frown when I realized someone was missing. Someone I had expected to finished after me. Bryan. He hadn't finished yet. Coach noticed his absence, too. She blew her whistle and called for me to go look for him. I nodded and ran back into the fog.

I kept looking around for him, not calling his name, being as silent as always. About half way through the track lap, I found him lying on the ground, looking unconscious. I gasped, running the rest of the length of the lap until I fell to my knees beside him. He was on his back, eyes closed, breathing ragged. Pulling his upper back and head on my lap, I cradled his head in my arms and listened to his breathing. It wasn't as ragged as it had been when we were running, but it was still pretty bad. I slapped his cheek gently a few times to try to wake him up, and around the third slap, he came to.

His eyes opened, and they darted all around, not stopping until they rested on my concerned face. Without thinking, I caressed the side of his face with my hand, looking into his deep green eyes. He sighed a little, as if relaxed, like he hadn't just collapsed from running a mile around the track grounds. Then, he started to get up, but he was unbalanced, wobbling on his legs. I got up beside him and pulled his arm over my shoulder, taking most of his weight. Although more than fifty percent of his weight was on me, it wasn't really even that heavy. It was definitely a lot lighter that it looked.

When we finally emerged from the fog, Coach was sending people back to the locker rooms. She turned to us right when we came up to her. "Oh, Bryan, there you are. We were looking for you. Are you alright?"

"Yes, Coach, I'm fine." Bryan's voice was still breathless from the run, but he sounded more or less true to his words. Coach nodded and dismissed us with a wave. I didn't let go of Bryan, and he didn't take his arm off my shoulders. Having his arm there was comfortable, like it was natural. It made me feel warm, safe, and…right. As if it was supposed to be there.

"Listen, Naomi," I glanced up at Bryan as he spoke, "I'm really sorry about lying to you last week. Please, forgive me. Look, I'll make it up to you; I'll take you somewhere. Anywhere you want to go. I'll take you out to dinner or a movie or something, or Delphic Amusement Park. Wherever you want to go, I'll take you there. Please…I'm so sorry."

He sounded so much like he meant it, and by looking in his eyes, I knew that he did. The amount of sincerity in his voice was almost impossible to deny. So, instead of talking and answering him, I grabbed a pen out of his backpack from where we were in front of the boys' locker room and wrote on my hand, I'll think about it.

He looked relieved but still wary, as I hadn't said yes, or no. I smiled at him and turned to go to the girls' locker room. Changing quickly and walking to third period, I thought it over. What did he mean take me out? Did he mean like a date? Actually, a date with Bryan didn't sound so bad. I mean, I couldn't deny that there was something about him that I had never seen in other guys I'd dated before. He was good looking, with long, lean muscles along his arms, brown hair that fell into his eyes all the time, and those irresistible green eyes that held more depth to them than I suspected I, or anyone, could see. As hard as I tried to deny it, I was definitely falling for the guys I had only met two weeks ago.

And I could forgive and forget, right? I mean, so what if he knew my middle name? I actually didn't even know if he knew my actual middle name, or just the initial. Lots of people can figure that kind of stuff out. Especially with the kind of technology we have now. Well, I could forgive, but forgetting wasn't so easy.

So for the rest of the day until seventh period, I thought about Bryant and his offer, long and hard. When I walked into biology, Bryan was already there, waiting in his seat. He looked up from the table as I made my way over to our lab table. His smile was a hopeful one, one that I couldn't help but return.

I sat down in my seat, wondering how I was going to tell him my answer. At the end of class, I told myself. So I waited an agonizingly long fifty-seven minute period for the bell to ring, saying school was over. I let out a nervous breath and stood beside Bryan. I grabbed his notebook and wrote with my pen, Yes. Tomorrow at eight?

I looked up at him and saw him reading what I wrote with a smile on his lips. He raised his eyes to meet mine. "Yeah, of course, I'll pick you up then. Text me your address?" he said.

I nodded, gathered my things, and left to find Sarah to drop her off at her house.

00o00

I parked my Volkswagen in the driveway and climbed out, halting in my tracks when I saw a black sedan parked where Dad usually parks. It looked so familiar, but I couldn't place how. Maybe it was from a commercial I'd seen on TV. Though, I had a feeling that idea wasn't even close.

I pulled out my keys and opened the door, dropping them in the bowl that stood in the entrance of the house. I walked straight into the kitchen, not walking into the living room, to greet my mom. Seeing her standing in front of the stove, I knocked gently on the door to let her know I was here. She turned and smiled, letting a pot of what smelled like hot chocolate come into view.

I smiled back at her, moving to hug her, though being careful of her growing stomach. It wasn't very big yet, but I still wanted to be careful. After all, it is my little sister or brother in there.

"Hey, Baby," Mom said, brushing her blond hair back, a habit that informed me when she was nervous or stressed. She had a nervous smile on her face, now, making me instantly wary. "There are some people I want you to meet. They're some old good friends of mine, and they're staying here in Coldwater. They're moving into the farm house about a mile from here, remember the one? Yeah, so help me carry some coffee and hot chocolate into the living room, please."

I nodded, getting straight to work by grabbing some plastic coffee mugs and the coffee pot from the cupboards and counter. Going into the living room, Mom grabbed the coffee pot from my hands and set it down before I could see the people in the living room. She looked even more nervous, swallowing before she spoke.

"Naomi, this is Nora and Patch Cipriano."

She moved aside, and the people standing up from the couch came into view. It was a really fortunate thing that Mom had grabbed the coffee pot from my hands because the next second, I dropped the coffee mugs in shock. All I could do was stare at my dreams come to life.

It was them. Them! The man and the woman that I've been drawing and dreaming about since I could hold a pencil. Everything was surreal, like I was in yet another dream with them. But I knew that this was as real as daylight. The man looked exactly like I had always dreamed he would, and the woman looked even more beautiful in person. They looked at me, something—hope? Happiness?—in their expressions.

I snapped out of it, bending down to pick up the mugs from the floor. This was exactly the reason why we'd bought plastic ones—because we all had a tendency to drop them. Mainly me, though. The man stepped forward, and I froze, half bent from standing up again. He gave me a smile and held out his hand.

"Hi, like Vee said, I'm Patch. Nice to meet you," he said. His voice was melodic, quiet, but not really. It was smooth and soft though I had a feeling it could be very loud and rough when he was upset or angry. His tone was friendly, but I sensed that it wasn't always.

I straightened and smiled at him. I shook his hand and used the time to decide whether I would speak or stay silent. Finally, I relented. There was something extremely familiar about the couple, but I didn't know what. I felt as though I could trust them instantly—like I was safe with them.

"Well, like Mom said, I'm Naomi. And it's nice to meet you, too," I said quietly, but loud enough that everyone could hear. In that moment, I realized just how alike our voices were. Mine was smooth, soft and melodic, but when I was angry, it was loud and harsh.

He let go of my hand, looking very pleased as if I had just told him he won the lottery. He kept his face composed in a smile, but his black eyes were smiling, holding infinite joy that I was sure I wasn't even seeing the half of.

Then, the woman came up to me. She smiled a beautifully friendly smile, the kind that mothers gave to their daughters whenever they did something their mothers approved greatly of. I was almost as tall as her, only an inch or so from being her height exactly. She was wearing a pair of jeans and a red turtle neck shirt.

"Hello, I'm Nora, Vee's best friend." Her voice was bright and friendly, but not high or chirpy. Just normal, like we were old friends or close friends. I smiled back at her, taking her hand and shaking it.

"Naomi. I've heard a lot about you, but I've never seen any pictures of you, not even in Mom's old yearbooks. Someone'sface was always cut out. Someone by the name of Nora Grey, which I'm guessing is you? Hmm, I wonder whose fault that is, right Mom?" I sent her a pointed look, which she avoided, looking everywhere but me, playfully. I chuckled and let go of Nora's hand.

"So, Naomi, tell us stuff about yourself, since you've heard about us, and we've heard almost nothing about you," Patch said, an almost there smile on his lips.

I raised an eyebrow. "Like what?" We moved to the couches and sat down, pouring coffee and hot chocolate for ourselves.

"Oh, stuff like your favorite color, how have your grades been, friends at school, that kind of stuff," Nora explained, sipping from her coffee.

"Oh," I said. "Well, my favorite colors are black and purple, I have a 4.0 GPA, and I'm practically a social outcast at school with only my best friend Sarah. Oh, and recently, a new kid actually talked to me."

Nora frowned. "You're a social outcast at school?"

"Well, not like that. I just keep to myself, most of the time. I don't really get called on in class, and I don't get invited to all the summer parties, or the homecoming dance, or any of that ridiculous stuff. It's just not worth it. I don't really talk much. At all. And I can beat any guy in a race, which makes them stay away from me unintentionally. Sarah is the only one that puts up with my silence, so she means the world to me. She's my only friend in the world that I'm not related to. Besides, the more of them that stay away, the better. I like it that way."

Patch smiled slightly, and Nora looked over at him. "Just like you," she said softly, a smile on her lips as she looked at the both of us. I looked over at Patchand couldn't help the half smile that quirked on my mouth. I could feel the dimple in my left cheek surfacing. My dimples didn't show up very often, but once in a while when I smile, they do. At the sight of my dimple, Patch's grin deepened, his own dimples surfacing.

"So, who's this new kid that talked to you? What's her name?" Mom asked.

"His name is Bryan. He's tall, dark, and annoying. Well, sometimes. I told you about him, remember?" I told her, clearly remembering the talk we had last week.

"How could I forget? It was when I told you I was pregnant. And when my little girl told me about her first real cru—,"

"Okay," I said loudly, cutting her off."No need to go into detail. I'm glad you remembered. Just please don't use that word."

Mom sat there, glancing around trying to look innocent, but I knew what she was already going to do. "Crush!" she blurted out, grinning at me triumphantly. I slapped my palm to my forehead.

"Only you would do that. You're lucky you're my mother," I muttered.

Mom suddenly grew serious. "Hey, Omi, why don't you show them some of your drawings?"

I raised an eyebrow at her use of my nickname, but widened my eyes as she finished her sentence. Are you insane? My expression said.

Of course she was.

"No."

"Why not?" Mom whined, sounding like a little kid whose mother was saying he couldn't have ice cream before dinner. I fought the urge to roll my eyes.

"Because I actually like these people! And besides, I just found out that they're real people and I'm not crazy! And," my voice turned warning-like, "I found out that you knew all along. Why didn't you tell me? After all these years of thinking I was somehow hallucinating, or being haunted, why are you suddenly introducing me to them?"

"Because I wanted you to meet them first. Now, please bring your drawings and show them to our guests. For us?" She patted her stomach, looking at me pleadingly.

"Fine," I relented. "But only because of my little brother or sister in there." I got up off the couch and ran up the stairs to my room. I looked around for one of my sketch books, grabbed an old one from the closet, and ran back downstairs.

"I've got it." I plopped down on the couch again, next to Mom, opposite of Patch and Nora. For a minute, I just sat there, staring at the book in my lap. Then, looking straight in their eyes, I handed them the book. Nora took it gently, as if it were made of glass, and sat closer to Patch so that the book was resting on half of her lap and half of Patch's.

Letting go of a breath I didn't even know I was holding, I pressed my face into mom's shoulder, not wanting to look at the freaked-out looks I was probably going to get. Mom's arm came around my shoulders, but it didn't feel right. It didn't feel motherly, not really. Sure, the action was motherly, but it didn't have the same feel to it. It was unsettling, but I ignored it, not wanting to deal with those confusions right now.

"Wow, these are…amazing." Nora's voice was hushed, awed, as she and Patch flipped slowly through the sketch book. "When Vee told us you drew pictures of us, I almost didn't believe her. But now I see she was telling the truth."

I thought I heard Mom mutter an "I told you so" under her breath.

"So, you don't think I'm weird or stalker-ish? You don't mind?" I asked, nervous of their answer.

"Not at all. I feel more honored than anything," Patch said, giving me a reassuring smile that instantly put me at ease. I let out another breath, smiling in relief. Then, a thought came to me just out of the blue.

"Patch, is that your real name? I don't know why, but I just feel like it's just a nickname. Maybe because it's obvious?"

He looked up at me, an appreciative look in his eyes. "No, it's just a nickname that I got when I was younger. I used to get into boxing, and fighting and things like that. I always needed to be 'patched' up." He gave me a wry smile, and I returned it.

"So, what's your real name? That is, if you don't mind me asking," I added as an afterthought.

Patch shook his head, showing me that it was fine. "My real name is Jev. I hardly get called by it, though. I've been going by Patch for years, a few years before I met you're moth—," he stopped talking abruptly. Then, he slowly continued, "Nora. A few years before I met Nora."

A haunting feeling settled in my stomach. Had he been about to say my mother? I was certain he was talking about Nora when he said that. Did he mean to call Nora my mother?

"Were you about to call Nora my mother?" I asked in a flat voice. Nora just stayed quiet, looking everywhere but me or Patch. Mom had fallen asleep about five minutes ago, so she wasn't exactly there at the moment.

"No. I mean, not exactly," Patch said, looking me straight in my grey-blue eyes with his black ones. The black ones that I had been seeing in my dreams for years, along with a particular pair of grey-blue much like my own that weren't looking at me at the moment. I could see that he was lying. And that was like a match to gasoline with my suspicion, rage, and, surprisingly, hurt.

"You're lying," I said in an even flatter voice. "I can see it in your eyes. And it's written all over your face. Why? Why do you have to lie to me, Jev? I mean, Patch."

The hurt in my voice was evident, and I thought I saw sadness or pain in Patch's eyes, but it was gone in an instant, replaced by what he probably hoped was blankness. Before he could answer, there was the sound of a car pulling into the driveway. Or probably the curb.

Despite the ache in my chest, I smiled. Dad was home.

"I'm home! Where're my girls?" dad's voice boomed, surprisingly not waking up Mom.

I jumped up from the couch, enthusiastic enough, and said as quietly as I could that he could still hear, "Daddy! You're home!" He came into the living room, and I jumped into his waiting arms, giving him a kiss on the cheek and hugging him tight. Though for some reason, I couldn't be as enthusiastic as I usually was. Normally, I wouldn't give hugging Dad a second thought, but doing it in front of Patch and Nora felt…wrong. Like the hug was misplaced.

He kissed my hair, and glanced at the sleeping form of my mom, chuckling softly. Then his eyes moved to the couple opposite of Mom. Patch and Nora were both still, Nora looking at me and Dad with her eyes darting between us, and Patch looking at the coffee table in between the couches, every muscle in his body rigid and tight, as if he were holding on to some raw emotion.

"Grey, is that you?" Dad said, peering at Nora as though he wasn't sure he was looking at the right person. Nora's eyes flashed back to Dad, and her mouth broke into a small smile.

"Hey, Scott," she said softly.

Slowly, Patch began to relax enough that he could manage a curt nod in my dad's direction that made me guess the feeling of friendship hadn't gone on between them.

"How have you guys been?" Dad was looking at Patch intently, like he was looking for something in his face, but Dad's eyes weren't searching—just staring.

"We've been good. How about you?" Nora said politely. It seemed as though they were just trying to fill the empty silence in the room, besides Mom's soft snores.

"Pretty good." For a few minutes, there wasn't much said after that. Not until Nora noticed that Patch had finally relaxed.

"Well, we'd better get going. We don't want to keep my mom waiting. Good night and goodbye."

Patch stood up, grabbed Nora's hand, and sent a parting nod to my dad. Suddenly, Mom sat up straight and looked around, disoriented until she saw Patch and Nora standing up to leave.

"Oh, leaving so soon? Well, I guess it is getting late. It's dark outside already." Mom was right. Through the curtains, you couldn't see a thing outside because there was no light. Mom stood up and hugged Nora. Then, she nodded politely at Patch. It seemed my parents didn't have such good history with Patch.

Nora looked at me like she was aching to hug me badly, but she didn't dare move any closer. And for some reason, I found myself wanting her to. I wanted to hug her. And I didn't know what that meant. She ducked her head a little, and she and Patch walked to the foyer. I didn't move until I heard the scuff of their shoes come to the carpet that was laid about five feet from the actual door.

"Wait!" I turned and ran to them where they had turned with surprised expressions at the sound of my voice. I stopped a few paces away from them, looking up at Patch and looking straight ahead at Nora. "Will I see you again?" I demanded.

They shared a look, and I could see the hope in their eyes. "Do you want us to come back?" Patch asked carefully. I debated it for a second. Did I want them to come back? Yes, yes I did.

"No. I think I…need you to come back," I said in a hushed, uncertain voice. Like a mirror, they're eyes lit up at the same time. When I had said no, their faces fell, but lit up when I said I needed them to come back. And I really meant it. "Please?" I pleaded to them, my voice sounding small and childlike.

Again, they shared a look, this one longer and more intense than the last. Finally, Nora said, "Of course. We'll be back. Goodnight."

I hesitated a moment but then just did it, ignoring my nerves. I put my arms around Nora's torso, hugging her like I would hug Mom. As I did, I felt this feeling of warmth and familiarity, as if I had known her my whole life long. I sighed happily as I felt Nora's arms wrap around my shoulders, hugging me tightly as if she never wanted to let go. And the thing was, I felt the exact same way.

Eventually, I did pull away, but I kissed her cheek just likeI did with Mom when she tucked me into bed to go to sleep. Then, I turned and hugged Patch tightly, too, sighing as his warm, strong arms hugged me back. He felt familiar, too. Safe, warm, and strong, like he could protect me from anything. And somehow, I knew he would. All too soon, we pulled away.

He smiled at me, and so did Nora. Then they turned and left out to their car. I smiled to myself as they drove away. I liked them, even if Patch had lied to me. After all, he technically had met my mother in high school when he met Nora. So, I guess it could count as a fluke. Just this once.

Saying goodnight to my parents, I climbed the stairs and changed into some pajamas. Right before I turned out the lights, I remembered something. I still hadn't texted Bryan my address yet. Well, I could right now, and tell mom I was going out tomorrow. After all, it was Friday tomorrow, not a school night.

So after sending the text, I turned out the lights and went to sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**Hey y'all! I'm back, and my computer is virus-free! However, I don't really have Wi-Fi in my house because of bills and junk, so I may not be updating often. I will try my best though! I want to thank everyone who reviewed since my last actual chapter! I'm glad more people are into it now! So, enjoy reading this new chapter! I'll have a list of some of the songs they dance to, but I don't know most of the artists, sorry. **

"_**DJ Got Us Falling in Love Again"—(I used to know)**_

"_**In My Head" –Tiao Cruz (I think… I honestly have no idea…)**_

"_**Tonight I'm Loving You"—Enrique Iglesias ft. Ludacris (I think…)**_

"_**Sober"—Kelly Clarkson, or "One and Only"—Adele (I think One and Only would be better)**_

"_**Stereo Hearts"—Gym Class Heroes**_

"_**Hit the Lights"—Selena Gomez (I ran out of ideas for songs… DX)**_

_**These are only a few, so if you can imagine some others (and if you listen to K-Win) then you can kind of see what I've tried to describe. Read on!**_

**Please Review!**

All throughout school, I couldn't seem to look Bryan in the eye. The fleeting glances I threw his way seemed awfully flirtatious, and not at all sending the right message—that is, if I were trying to send him a message. In every class we had together—not many, thank goodness—I avoided any sort of communication with him, writing or—Heaven forbid—talking alike. I know it seems cruel and mean, but I honestly didn't know what to write to him, or even how to have a half-conversation with him. I, of course, was the half, seeing as I wasn't even talking.

At the end of class, though, my avoidance of him dissipated like mist when he finally confronted me about our—not date. Our night out, I guess you could say. It was our last class of the day, and as the blessed bell rang, dismissing us, he caught my arm on the way out.

"Hey, Naomi, I was just wondering—you still want to go out tonight, right?" I nodded. "Oh, good, because I thought you might have changed your mind overnight, you weren't even looking me in the eye."

Thank God he didn't think I was flirting.

"So, at eight, right?" he looked down at me hopefully. I smiled slightly and nodded. "Great. It's a date." And with that, he walked away. Huh, I guess it is a date. Now.

As soon as I dropped Sarah off at her house and got home myself, I ran into the house, not even noticing the black sedan parked again outside. I dropped my things on the carpet in front of the door inside in the foyer, and ran into the kitchen, ignoring the living room. "Mom, mom, mom! Emergency! I need your help, _pronto_!"

My mom had been cooking in the kitchen, turned away from me until I yelled her name. She turned, a protective expression on her face as she gripped my arms, looking behind me for an unseen threat. "What? What is it? What do you need?"

"It's not trouble like being bullied or anything; it's just that I have a date tonight and I don't know what to wear or what to do! I haven't even said a word to the guy!" Hearing it come out in words made it sound even worse that telling it to myself in my head.

"Shhhhh!" My mom clamped her hand over my mouth. "We have company." My eyes widened and I felt heat rise up in my cheeks. She nodded her head in the general direction of the living room, uncovered my mouth, and gave me a gentle shove in that direction. I walked slowly, my legs seeming to have turned into lead in seconds, until I came to the corner before the living room. I took a deep, shuddering breath, and then walked into the room, head held high as if I still possessed a shred of dignity.

Patch and Nora were seated closely together on our couch in front of the TV, though they weren't watching anything. Their eyes zeroed in on me the moment my sneaker touched the living room floor. They both smiled at me, though their smiles were nervous. I could tell Patch was trying his best to keep his nervousness from showing, but I could see it in his black, calculating eyes. Nora was shaking slightly, giving herself away entirely. It struck me just how different this young couple was.

"Hey, guys," I said carefully, watching Nora as she literally flinched at the sound of my voice. I suddenly had a flash of an image, where Nora was breaking down in tears, sobs racking her body as she held on to me, moaning over and over the same words:

"_I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…."_

Just as quick as the image appeared in my brain, it vanished, leaving me dizzy and disoriented momentarily. Then I heard them reply to my low greeting. "Hi, Naomi…"

I weighed my options for a second about sitting in the loveseat to their right or just sitting next to them on the couch. Then, shaking off any nerves I might have had, I deliberately walked over to the couch and sat right next to Patch, feeling him stiffen with surprise and then relax.

"So," Nora said, attempting to make light conversation. "I heard you had an emergency. Is there anything I can do to help? Anything at all?"

I considered her offer quietly, thinking. Well, I'm sure she had dated plenty of boys in high school before; I mean, a pretty face like hers doesn't just go by unnoticed. Maybe she could help me.

"Uh, well, see, there's this guy at school, the new guy I told you about last time you were here. He owes me a favor, and I guess he decided to take me out on a date as an apology for something he did earlier this week. And I haven't said even a single word to him, just because he challenged me that he could get me to talk to him and break my silent streak not just to him, but to everyone else. I've had dates before, but not with guys I actually like! Help," I confessed the whole thing to her, in front of Patch, who had gone stiff at the mention of Brian taking me on a date.

"What did he do to you?" Patch said in a tight voice I didn't like. I resisted the urge to say something sharp, and bit my tongue.

"Oh, you know, nothing that important to you, but very important to me: he lied. And I hate liars."

I watched with satisfaction and guilt as his gaze turned shameful. I bet he was remembering the time _he _lied to me.

"Well," Nora said, "I can help you find something to wear, give you a few tips, and set down the guidelines I _know _your, uh, mother—or father—is going to tell you. Yeah, I can do that. What time is he coming to pick you up?"

"At eight. We've got time, and I can finish my homework pretty fast, so we can start after algebra, English, and a little bit of biology, yeah?"

Nora nodded, an excited glint in her eyes, much different from ten minutes ago when she'd been shaking with nervousness. I got up from the couch, grabbed my backpack from the foyer, and hurried back into the living room, plopping back down beside Patch and pulling out my math book. The paper I'd had two minutes to start on at school had only two problems written down on it, and remembering that I had to complete twenty-two more problems sent my stomach and high spirits to the floor.

But nonetheless I started working on it right away, not pausing once for anything. I could feel Patch's and Nora's eyes watching me as I speedily worked my way through problem after problem, not once faltering to remember something or work something out. Algebra had never been so easy to me, and the fact that I was doing it like it was nothing right now was startling; but also gratifying. I guess all of that studying Dad made me do as a little kid was paying off.

"Do you need help or anything?" Patch's quiet voice sliced through my intense concentration. I didn't falter in my steady stream of work.

"No," I said, not even looking up at him, "I'm good, thanks." Feeling rude, I glanced up at him and gave him a small smile. "To tell you the truth, algebra has never been this easy for me. I can concentrate much better for some reason. Or it could just be all the studying Dad made me do when I was really little. I was just six or seven, already learning algebra. His explanation for that was, _'I don't want you to end up like me when I was in high school; stupid and not even knowing what the word algebra meant.'_"

I smiled and shook my head at the memory. It had been so long ago, I wasn't sure how I could recall it so well. I finally finished my algebra in record time, and started on my English homework. I just had to read a chapter of the book _Phoenix Rising_ **(I don't remember the author's name XD) **and then finish a few questions on my comprehension sheet. I finished that quickly enough. While transitioning to biology homework, I glanced up at the clock. Already, it was 4:45. I had been working on homework for a little over a half an hour.

Biology homework came and went, and I was finally on my way with my mom and Nora trailing behind me to my bedroom. We entered, and Mom went straight to my closet while Nora just stood there in the doorway, gaping at my neat and tidy room. I smiled ruefully to myself before grabbing her wrist and pulling her inside.

"Okay, now, I think you should wear this dress with these shoes, or this dress with _these _shoes," Mom said. The first dress in question was black with some patterns of more black lace on it, and the shoes were strappy heels that I'm sure someone bought me for my birthday last year that I never wore. The second dress was a dark navy blue with a belt to tie around my mid-section and some ankle boots, black of course. I wasn't quite sure about either of them, since I didn't usually wear dresses in the first place, and didn't remember how those two had gotten in my closet. I did however, love the shoes.

"I'm not so sure about wearing a dress, Momma…" I trailed off, having sent my message. _Let's move on._

Mom put the dresses away. "May I?" I turned to Nora to answer her question.

"By all means." I swept my hands toward my closet in a beckoning motion. I smiled at her encouragingly. She stepped forward and sifted through my shirts and jeans, making the occasional sound of agreement about my taste. Then she opened the drawers underneath the hanging clothes and pulled out a black camisole with a pair of skinny jeans she'd gotten from a hanger. The outfit was simple, casual, and sexy. I tilted my head as if to look at it from a different angle. Then I smiled and nodded my approval.

"Great! And with these shoes, you'll look perfect on your date! Now, hurry up and go take a shower, it's about six-thirty now," my mom ushered me in the general direction of the bathroom.

"What? Six-thirty already?" Last I'd checked it had been five o'clock! And we hadn't even spent twenty minutes in here!

"Time moved up an hour, babe." Oh. Yeah. That's right. Day light savings thing. Got it.

I grabbed my necessities in a hurry, and then ran to the bathroom, locking and shutting the door behind me. The warm water cascading down my back was calming, largely subduing my nervous shakes. I guess I was like Nora in the sense that I could give myself away if the feeling was strong enough. I kept reminding myself over and over that this was just a date. This was just an apology Bryan was giving me because he'd lied to me. But no matter what I told myself, the butterflies just wouldn't fly away.

Fifteen minutes to the dot, I was out of the shower and dry, lathering lotion on my body before dressing myself in the camisole that I usually just called a tank top. The spaghetti straps were thin and small, almost invisible on my shoulders. Had they not been black, they wouldn't have been visible at all. The tank top hugged my curves in all the right places, and my jeans did the same, outlining my legs and back-side well. My shoes were normal, casual high-tops, but there was something about them that gave off an elegant vibe, making them a lot more party-ish than normal high-tops.

My hair decided to behave tonight, falling in nice, pretty waves down my back and around my face. My long lashes didn't need mascara and I didn't really need eyeliner either, so I just gave my lips a little coat of lip gloss, and I was ready to go. By then, I was taking my sweet time, saying hello to my dad when he passed the bathroom on his way to his room to change into presentable clothes. My mom had already filled him in about my date, and he was preparing to give Bryan the limits and restrictions straight. I smiled just thinking about how that would work out.

I climbed down the stairs slowly, giving everyone time to sit down on the couches and judge my transformation with numbers. I stepped into the living room shyly, looking down a bit, but then meeting everyone's gaze calmly. I wasn't afraid of judgment. I was just asking their opinions.

"Wow, sexy, babe!" That, of course, came from my mother, the only person who calls me "babe."

"Beautiful, just beautiful," Nora said, smiling at me. Her grey eyes met mine, and I felt something emitting from her, something foreign to me, but that I knew about. Motherly pride.

"That's a little… bare, don't you think?" Patch said after a moment.

"Yeah… I think so, too. Maybe you could—," I cut my dad off before he could continue.

"It's alright, Dad, I won't let anything happen. And besides, I have a coat. And you know how often it is that I take off a coat when it's cold out," I reasoned. I never really took off my coat or sweater when we got to the colder seasons. It wasn't that I was always cold, or anything. It was more because I got too lazy to take it off.

Dad nodded to himself, but out of the corner of my eye, I saw Patch clench his fist. His face was emotionless, but I sensed something more under the surface, simmering and angry. And I couldn't understand it. I just sat down beside him—Mom and Dad were sitting on the other couch—and rested my hand on his clenched fist. Like liquid, his tension slipped away, his entire posture relaxing. We just sat there and watched the TV, which was playing something I wasn't paying attention to. The butterflies were back—with a vengeance.

It was seven fifty-five, and I was starting to squirm in my seat, when the doorbell rang. I literally jumped when I heard it, and Dad was on his feet in a flash. "I got it" was all he said as he walked to the foyer. I could hear my heart pounding in my chest like a bird trapped in a cage, trying to break free.

"Hello, you must be Bryan," I heard my dad say in a friendly voice. I exhaled half of a breath I didn't realize I was holding.

"Hello, would I be correct in guessing that you are Mr. Coranda?" Bryan said in an equally friendly voice. The other half of my breath escaped my lips.

"Please, call me Scott."

"Yes sir, Scott."

There was some soft laughter, and I decided that was my cue to turn up. I stood up, my coat over my arm, and took a step in the general direction of the foyer. I was glad that, for the most part, Dad's laughter wasn't forced, and neither was Bryan's. Mom kissed my cheek, and I waved to Nora and Patch. "Good luck," they all whispered.

I appeared around the corner, and walked behind my dad, tapping his shoulder to get his attention. He turned and smiled, bringing me in front of him with an arm around my shoulders.

"Take care of my baby, tonight, all right?" Dad's tone didn't sound threatening. He kept up the friendliness.

"I will sir, don't worry. And I'll be on my best behavior, I promise," Bryan said sincerely. It was hard to doubt a voice like that.

"Glad to hear it. Don't go out too far, and have her back home by eleven thirty. Think you can do that?" Dad had his hands on my shoulders now; prepared to give me away. Metaphorically speaking, of course.

"Yes, sir. We'll see you then, I guess."

"All right, then. Have a good time, honey," Dad said, talking to me. He kissed my forehead, and gave me a gentle push out the door. _Bye, _I signed to him. A long time ago, we both learned sign language. It was just something I wanted to do, so he learned it with me. We did everything together. And I could only imagine how he felt now, watching me leave to go on a date with a guy actually liked. We walked down the porch, and I knew without looking behind me: The door had closed.

Now that I was out of the house, I finally got to get a good look at him. Dressed in black Levis and black boots, Bryan had a black t-shirt on under a leather jacket. It reminded me of the kind motorcycle riders wore. And that was when I met our means of transportation: A dark, glossy, brand-new looking Harley Davidson motorcycle. I was actually looking forward to riding it. See, my parents wouldn't let me buy a motorcycle, but that didn't stop me from learning how to drive one. I just loved the feeling of the wind on my face and in my hair; I felt free. I figured if it was as close as I would ever get to the sensation of flying, I'd take it.

"You look great," Bryan said, interrupting my ogling session with his motorcycle. I smiled at him in thanks. I gestured to him. _You do, too. _He handed me the one helmet that was sitting on the seat, but I waved it away. I didn't need it. "No, please, wear it. I don't need it. I don't want you getting hurt."

_I don't need it either, _I signed to him. By the frown on his face, I saw he understood.

"Well, where is it gonna go? I don't have a special compartment for it," he said. So I gave in. I took it, and swung onto the motorcycle. I put the helmet on over my waves, and started the bike. As it rumbled to life, I felt hands on my waist, sliding me to the back seat, and Bryan climbed onto the bike in front of me, grinning at me as he saw me frown. I put my arms around him as he peeled out of my driveway and onto the street.

Where he was taking me was a mystery, so I just leaned my head against his shoulders, reveling in the feeling of the wind, even if it was biting any piece of skin that wasn't covered by my coat or the helmet. It was a fifteen minute ride, but when we got to the parking lot, I knew where we were. We were at the movie theater.

I swung off the bike, taking off the helmet and ruffling my slightly damp hair. I handed Bryan the helmet and waited for him to finish what he was doing. Then he extended his arm to me, and led me inside the theater.

"What movie do you want to see? There's plenty. We can watch _Project X, Silent House, The Lorax," _he chuckled at that last one.I held up two fingers for the second option. "_Silent House _it is."

He bought some popcorn and soda and led me to the theater playing the movie we wanted to see. It would be a long one, but that was okay. I didn't have to be home until eleven thirty. Normally it would've been ten o'clock, but I guessed Dad decided to be lenient tonight.

All through the movie, while some people screamed, I was laughing silently, just watching and enjoying the movie. Ever since I was a little girl, I was always fascinated by scary movies. When Disney movies were playing in theaters, I wanted to watch the scariest movies in the theater. But there were age problems, so I was forced to watch plates and silverware dance and sing, while other people were watching scream-worthy movies. The day I turned thirteen, I wanted to go straight to the theaters and watch any and all scary movies that were playing. Well, all the ones that weren't rated R.

The movie finally ended, and Bryan took me to a restaurant nearby. We walked in and I saw there was a long line of huge families hoping for dinner on the weekend. The hostess saw us and asked, "Table for two?"

We nodded. She grabbed two menus and led us to a table in the middle of several other two-seat tables. We sat, and I, completely uncharacteristically, took off my coat and hung it on the back of my chair. Bryan did the same. We sat, looking over our menus in silence. When our waitress came to take our order, I noticed how much she was looking at him. And how it seemed she was only talking to him.

"Hello, I'm Stacey, are you ready to order, or would just like something to drink while you look over the menu some more?" She was medium height, a little big around the middle, and had light hair. I didn't like that she was raking her eyes over him so much. But I didn't say anything. It wasn't like Bryan was my boyfriend or anything. I still didn't like it, though.

"I think we're ready to order," Bryan said, looking to me for confirmation. I nodded my consent.

While he spoke to the waitress, I surveyed the room idly, just waiting for my turn to speak with the flirtatious waitress, who, by the way, looked to be about thirty and had a wedding ring on her finger. The nerve people had these days. I did a lazy 180 turn to the left, and the booth a couple tables away from us caught my attention. Not just because it was occupied by rowdy teenagers throwing food around and laughing, but also because it was occupied by rowdy, food-throwing laughing teenagers _from my school. _As a matter of fact, I knew all of them. All three girls and three boys from my classes.

I quickly turned away in time to see the waitress turn to me. I pointed my finger at what I wanted and she scribbled it back and left with a wink at Bryan. I rolled my eyes and resisted the urge to both gag, and reach over and grab Bryan's hand, just to show her that she couldn't have him. Not that he was mine, or anything, but because he was way too young for her. Yeah—that's why.

"So, are you going to talk to me, _now?_" I came back to the present, out of my thoughts, and smiled at his question. I tilted my head and shrugged, as if to say, _maybe. _I winked though, not exactly sure why. "You at least enjoyed the movie, though, right?" I nodded, smiling bigger. "Well, at least I did something right. I'm glad. Maybe you won't hate me as much."

My eyebrows knitted together in concern, and I shook my head. Was that what he thought? That I hated him? Had I been that mean to him? I could never hate him! I opened my mouth to say as much, but then I stopped. His grin totally killed it. He knew this would be my reaction. He knew I would talk.

But I didn't.

Instead, I hit his arm. As he rubbed it, I glared at him. While I was annoyed that he'd done that, I couldn't help but admire his plan, and—by some small degree—be touched that he'd paid enough attention to me that he would know how I would react to what he'd said. Ugh, I'm becoming such a girl.

The waitress came back then, with our food and drinks. I was surprised that our food was ready; usually it took a real long time. But I didn't waste any time thinking so much, and just started eating. Bryan had started eating the minute the waitress had left—with another wink, by the way—so I didn't feel self-conscious. We were finished with our food in fifteen minutes. All we'd really ordered were just small sandwiches. After eating all that popcorn, I wasn't really hungry, but I was okay with eating a little bit of food.

"Okay, I just need to know, are you having a good time? I've never been on a date with a girl who's never said more than three sentences to me, so I'm wondering…" Bryan trailed off uncertainly. His uncertainty was endearing, and I felt as though my heart grew in size. That was the only way to describe the feeling in my chest. My body also warmed a few degrees.

For a few seconds I just looked at him, my eyes raking over his handsome face, and looking into his moss green eyes. I realized how I looked with my head tilted to the side in my clasped hands like girls do in cartoons when they're staring after some guy, with hearts around their heads and in their eyes. I also realized I didn't care.

_Okay,_ I thought. _No more silence._

I grinned at him happily, and opened my mouth to say something, but before I could, someone called my name.

"Naomi? Naomi Coranda, is that you?"

A girl from the booth that I'd noticed before walked over to our table, a smile on her lips. But I knew the look in her eyes. It spelled _gossip_ with a capitol G. I felt a flush of irritation at her for interrupting our moment, at myself for not saying something quicker. But I fought it down and forced a small smile at the girl whose name I never bothered to learn. Weird, because we'd been friends once.

"Wow, I never dreamed I'd run into you here! Are you on a date? With the new guy?" I sheepishly nodded. "Aw, you guys look so cute together! And I just had an idea! We're going to a little club—hey, don't look at me like that; it's a teen club! Anyway, yeah we're going there after Clair finishes her food. Why don't you two come with us? Oh, I'm Mia, by the way," She said as if just remembering she hadn't met Bryan.

"I'm Bryan," Bryan mumbled, shaking her hand.

"So, how 'bout it?"

I was just about to shake my head to decline when something stopped me. The girl, Clair had said something that killed the decline before I could make it.

"Why's Mia even asking her? She's gotta know Naomi won't come. She never does."

How could they make such a big assumption when I was less than three yards away from them? I know I never really went to parties with them, but they had no right to assume what I would or wouldn't do. They didn't know me. Not really. I was angry, so instead of declining, I did something I had never done when it came to them.

I accepted.

I reached over and grabbed Bryan's hand, lacing my fingers through his, and plastered a smile on my face. "Sure. We'd love to come. Right, Bryan?" I looked at him, still smiling, but this time more genuinely. I was leaving the choice up to him. Err, mostly.

"Yeah, I don't see why not. It's only nine anyway," he said, giving my fingers a squeeze.

The kids from the booth all had their mouths hanging open. I couldn't resist saying what I said next.

"Oh, come on, now. Close your mouths. We aren't fly fishing. Your chins are touching the floor." And I reached over, took Mia's chin, and closed her mouth. The others followed suit.

Like a gentleman, Bryan paid for the food, and we walked out of the restaurant, taking our time to get to his motorcycle. Along the way, I slid my hand back into his, missing its warmth and security. He didn't comment, just walked along beside me and gave my hand another squeeze.

"Bryan?" I said as we grew closer to his bike. Bryan looked over at me quickly, surprise evident on his face.

"You talked to me. You just talked to me," he repeated, smiling hugely. I smiled, nodding, and resisting the urge to roll my eyes. "I have completed my goal! And I went on a date with you. Huge plus in my opinion."

This time I laughed, and it felt like I was letting a huge weight off my chest and I could finally breathe again. I felt lighter, like I'd been lugging around the weight of not talking to Bryan, when that was all I needed to do.

"Hmm," Bryan said, watching me. We'd stopped walking and were now standing in the middle of the parking lot. He was looking me up and down, and then just looking in my eyes. A blush worked its way up to my cheeks.

"What?" I asked self-consciously. His staring was starting to get to me. I didn't really care what other people thought of me, but I realized I actually cared what Bryan thought of me. Because I cared about _him._

"Nothing, I just…. I just like your laugh," Bryan said softly. "I've never really heard it before, you've always been so quiet. Hearing it now, I feel like I'm being let in on some big, special secret. Because I have a feeling that not very many people have heard your laugh. Your _real_ laugh."

I looked down, a small smile still on my lips. I looked back up at him, looking into those moss green eyes that I always seemed to get lost in. We didn't even notice anything around us until headlights were shined right on us. We both ran to the side of the car quickly, laughing nervously. It wasn't until then that I noticed who the driver was.

"Are you guys comin' or what?" Mia yelled out the window.

"Yeah, just wait for us, we'll follow you!" I yelled back. Then Bryan and I jogged back to the motorcycle, slid on, and followed Mia's car to the club.

Calling it a club wasn't that far of a stretch. Music was playing, color lights and strobe lights were flashing, and the place was packed with sweaty moving bodies, all teenagers, not a single adult in sight. But that didn't mean there weren't any adults there.

The minute we walked in, I knew why it was so popular. I felt a good vibe here. A vibe that told me I could be free, that I could be me and let myself go. I wanted to dance as soon as I stepped onto the dance floor. Mia took our jackets, claiming she was going to put them under a table so no one would get them, and I didn't object. I had nothing valuable in my coat anyway.

"Let's dance!" I shouted over the music to Bryan. He grinned at me, and I led him by the hand I was still holding to the dance floor, merging with the other bodies seamlessly. A new song had just started, and I was already moving to the beat.

"_So we back in the club,_

_With our bodies rocking from side to side,_

_Side-side to side._

_Thank God the week is done, _

_I feel like a zombie _

_Come back to life_

_Back-back to life._

_Hands up._

_When the music starts, _

_We all put our hands up_

_No control of my body_

_Think I saw you before, _

_I think I remember those_

_Eyes, eyes, eyes,_

_Eye-eye-eyes-eyes."_

We put our hands up as the song said, and I could feel myself losing to the pull that the music was encasing me in. I was losing control, just letting myself go and dancing.

"_Cause baby tonight,_

_The DJ got us falling in love again._

_Yeah, baby tonight,_

_The DJ got us falling in love again._

_So dance, dance, like it's _

_The last, last night of your _

_Life, life, gonn' get you right._

_Cause baby tonight,_

_The DJ got us falling in love again."_

Several other songs played. I was out of control, whipping my hair, moving my hips, and throwing moves I didn't know I could do. The dances I was doing were so complex, almost foreign to me, but dancing was never foreign to me. I used to do it all the time when I was little with my dad. I don't remember what made me stop. The feeling of freedom that I was getting now made me regret that I ever did.

It also amazed me just how close Bryan and I were. I was either in his backwards embrace, or in his arms facing him. If I had been watching the way we were dancing, I probably would've flushed; that's how close we were. Where our bare skin touched—which was a lot of places, considering I was only wearing a tight black tank top, and he was wearing a tee-shirt—I could feel an electric shock. It wasn't entirely unpleasant, that much I could tell. His hands were strong and reliable, never letting me go; never letting me stray too far away from him. Not that I wanted to get away. I was perfectly fine right where I was, with only a sliver of air between us that he managed to diminish.

"_Everybody's lookin' for love, oh._

_Ain't that the reason you're at this club? Oh._

_You ain't gonna find a dance with him, no._

_Got a better solution for you girl, oh oh…."_

I was moving my hands and my torso in a way that Bryan managed to copy without faltering in the least. As if we were synchronized. As if we were connected.

"_I know you want me,_

_I made it obvious that I want you too._

_So put it on me,_

_Let's remove some space between me and you._

_Now I can party, oh._

_Damn, I like the way that you move…."_

His hands were on my hips, following their movements; the pressure made shivers go up and down my legs. My back was against his chest, my arms around his neck behind me….

"_My heart's a stereo, _

_It beats for you so listen close._

_You hear my thoughts in every note, oh oh._

_Make me your radio, _

_And turn me up when you feel low…."_

I was smiling uncontrollably, enjoying myself as much as possible, even though I knew we didn't have much time left before we would have to leave. I didn't dwell on that thought, not that I could have if I'd wanted to; every thought I had got swept away by the euphoria coursing through me.

"_Hit the lights._

_Let the music move you,_

_Lose yourself tonight!_

_Come alive,_

_Let the moment take you._

_Lose control tonight!"_

Eventually, the DJ decided it was time to wrap it up with a slow song.

"Hey, y'all! What's going on? Now, the Big Boss is telling me it's time to wrap things up. It's almost eleven, just a half hour shy, and we gotta have this place clean and empty by eleven. So here's a slow one for ya, it's called One and Only by Adele. Nice and slow for you guys," The DJ said into his headset microphone. And then the song started playing.

I knew the words, so I sang along with it, looking up into Bryan's green eyes.

"_You've been on my mind._

_I grow fonder every day._

_Lose myself in time,_

_Just thinking of your face._

_God only knows,_

_Why it's taken me so long _

_To let my doubts go,"_

I sang to him softly. His gaze was so singularly on me it was a wonder why I wasn't blushing, or at least uncomfortable.

"_You're the only one that I want_

_I don't know why I'm scared,_

_I've been here before._

_Every feeling, every word,_

_I've imagined it all._

_You'll never know,_

_If you never try_

_To forgive your past,_

_And simply be mine."_

His hands were on my waist, and my arms were looped around his neck. We were slowly turning in a circle, slow dancing on the dance floor like so many other couples on the dance floor around us. I briefly regretted not agreeing to wear the dress Mom had suggested.

"_I dare you to let be me_

_Your one and only._

_I promise I'm worthy,_

_To hold in your arms._

_So come on, and give me the chance,_

_To prove I am the one who can_

_Walk that mile_

_Until the end starts…."_

When the song ended, Bryan dipped me down low in his arms, one hand on the small of my back, the other clasping my hand—the one that wasn't grasping his shoulder. His face was inches from mine; I could feel the heat of his breath on my face. Not on my own volition, my eyes flickered from his eyes to his lips, and then back again.

All at once I became conscious of the fact that we were in the middle of a wide circle, a crowd watching us with smirks and smiles on their faces. My cheeks started to burn, and then something else even more embarrassing happened: someone, a guy in the crowd, called out, "Well, man? What are you waitin' for? Kiss her, fool!"

The whole crowd started chanting the words over and over, shouting. Guys were threatening to kiss me if Bryan didn't, and girls were threatening to kick his behind if he didn't. I smiled at him apologetically, and then pointed to my cheek with the hand that was on his shoulder; he was still holding my other one. Bryan smirked, and leaned down to kiss my cheek. His lips were soft, the kiss itself a light-weight pressure, softer than a moth's wing.

Hoots and boos went up in the crowd, but they were half-hearted; the crowd was satisfied enough. We grinned and went to get out coats. Mia and the others caught up with us, laughing with us about the whole kiss situation, lightly chiding Bryan about kissing me on the cheek, and then promising to see us at school. Bryan and I waved her and the others goodbye, and then drove home on his Harley Davidson motorcycle.

When we finally arrived at my house, it was ten minutes till eleven thirty. I swung off the motorcycle, took off the helmet, and balanced it carefully on the seat, ruffling my wavy hair. Bryan came up beside me. "Ready to go in?" He offered me his arm.

I grinned at him. "If we must, we must." I took his arm, and he led me up the driveway to the porch. When we got there, I turned to him. "I had a really great time tonight, Bryan. Thank you so much—ugh, I can't thank you enough. This was the most fun I've had in—a long time. I'm really glad you took me out tonight. Thanks for dinner, thanks for the movie, thanks for taking me to the club; it was great," I told him with as much sincerity as I could.

Bryan grinned at me. "No problem, I'm glad you had fun. I was afraid it would be boring just going to a movie and eating dinner, so I was glad when Mia came up to us and told us about the club. I had a good time with you, too."

I smiled and took another step on the stairs to the porch. But I miscalculated how high the step was and ended up tripping into Bryan, who was on the step above me. I know what you're thinking—how could I miscalculate how high the steps of the porch I've climbing up and down on since I before I could remember were? Well, considering I never even took the steps one at a time, preferring to just jump over all six of them to get to the door, I would say I had a good excuse.

He caught me just before my face could smash into his chest, his hands gentle on my upper arms, keeping me from falling. He steadied me after a moment—a moment in which we both just stared into each other's eyes. I stood up, not even bothering to remember to flush. Our faces were, once again, inches from touching. Our breath came out as fog, a white barrier cloud separating us. Bryan leaned in ever so slightly closer, and my eyes lids fluttered, but I still kept them open.

And just when I thought he would close the distance, he whispered, "Good night, Naomi." My eyes flew wide open to see him side-stepping me and climbing down the steps toward his Harley. My cheeks flushed, and I desperately hoped it didn't show in the dim lighting of the porch. I turned and waved to him, calling out, "See you Monday!" as if I still possessed some small degree of dignity.

I waited until he drove away, and then took out my keys and unlocked the door. Stepping inside, I shrugged off my coat and hung it up on the coatrack next to the door. I closed the door behind me, leaning against it and letting out a flustered breath. A feeling coursed through me; it took me a moment to identify it: frustration.

"Naomi? Babe, is that you?"

My mom's voice floated out of the living room. She followed after it, appearing around the corner with a curious expression on her face. I walked toward her and we came into the living room. She stopped me though, when I came into the light.

"You look flushed," she said in a tone I didn't like. "And I heard you sigh when you came in… something must've happened… he kissed you didn't he?"

I didn't say anything, dazed slightly by her musings, and she took that as a yes. "Oooh, he did, didn't he? I knew it!" she squealed. My eyes widened as I realized that not only was my dad in the room—scowling at the subject, I might add—but so were Nora and Patch. Patch seemed to have an identical scowl gracing his features, though he hid it a lot better than my father did.

I tried to stamp down on my mother's growing excitement. "No! No, Mom, he didn't kiss me. Stop with the squealing and jumping, it's making me nervous," I added, pointedly placing my hand on her tiny baby bump. She glanced down sheepishly, then went to curl up on the loveseat beside my dad.

"Well, he did something! Did he kiss you or not?" my mother demanded. "I want a straight answer."

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. "Okay, you want a straight answer, I'll give you one. He…almost kissed me." There. I'd leave it at that.

"Man! This one must be a thinker," Mom said, frowning.

"Oh, God," I groaned, sitting down beside Patch. Without thinking, I buried my face in his arm. "Make her stop," I begged him, my voice muffled. "I don't wanna talk about boys right now."

"You heard her," Patch said after a moment. The way his voice sounded, he seemed pleased about something.

"Why?" Mom whined. "At least tell me where he took you. Or what you two did. Please?"

I took my face out of Patch's arm and looked at her. "Fine, I'll tell you. He took me to the movies, we saw _Silent House_, and afterwards we went to the nearby diner and ate dinner. Then some kids from school recognized us and invited us to come with them to a teen club that they were headed to. It was for teens, so we went. There wasn't any alcohol or anything there wasn't supposed to be, so it was safe. After that, we came home. Satisfied?"

Mom thought for a moment. Then she said, "What happened at the club?"

"We danced, had fun, and then he—," I stopped mid-sentence. But I'd already started, so I just finished the sentence. "He kissed me on the cheek. There. It was just a little peck. Nothing big. _Satisfied?_"

Thankfully, Mom nodded. But by the look on her face, I knew this conversation wasn't over. Dad was glowering beside her, yet still trying to be supportive. "Did you still have fun? I'm not gonna have to beat him up or something 'cause he was misbehaving or anything, right?"

I laughed, finding his overprotectiveness endearing. "No, Daddy; he was perfectly well behaved. Nothing but a gentleman the entire time. And I had a great time. It was really fun. Besides, the movie was my choice—I'd wanted to see _Silent House_ since it first came out. But a certain two _someones_ didn't want to take me." I pointedly pretended to glare at my parents.

I shouldn't have bothered. They were busy grinning at each other, my mom giggling like I imagine she did when they dated in they were both teenagers, and my dad staring at her with an almost blind adoration. I suspected they tuned out after the words, _well behaved. _They got like this sometimes; I didn't understand sometimes, how they acted like such a young couple.

Because they are a young couple, I realized—then cursed myself for not realizing it sooner. They were barely twice my age—in their early thirties. Now about to have their second child, though acting as if it were their first, I noticed. If I were correct, then my mom had me when she was nineteen or twenty, since she was thirty-six now. When they tuned out of the world, it was as if nothing in the world mattered to them except each other. It was romantic and all, but kind of isolating when it happened while I was talking to them or something.

It was isolating now, watching them in their private bubble, the smile slipping off my face. I tilted my head, a soft sigh escaping my lips. I didn't usually want or need attention, but right now, when I'd just come home from hands-down the best date I'd ever been on, it would've been nice to have at least divided attention. I suddenly had the craziest urge to cry, my throat tightening, eyes burning. I lowered my head, turning my gaze towards my now-clasped hands resting on my lap, my hair falling to cover my face like a black velvet curtain. I could only see in my peripheral vision through the small gaps my hair made.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone move, a black figure, distorted from the tears in my eyes. With a start, I realized it was Patch. I'd almost forgotten he and Nora were here. He stood up and towered over me, though I didn't move a muscle. That is until he grabbed me by the waist and began to slide me into his spot where he'd been sitting seconds ago. My head snapped up the moment his hands touched me, but his face held nothing but soft tenderness. The sight of it was surprising and sort of heart-warming; I guessed he'd noticed how my spirits had plummeted when I saw that I'd been ignored—by the person who'd asked the question no less.

Patch sat back beside me in my spot, so that I was now in between Nora and him. I sat absolutely still, wondering what to make of this new development, while Patch stretched his arm over the back of the couch, enveloping me in a comforting sense of warmth, safety, and security. While I sat there rigidly, still making up my mind whether to relax or excuse myself off to bed, I glanced at my parents to see if they had noticed anything. Not a chance.

I pursed my lips, the urge to cry gone now that I was in between the Cipriano couple. I found I rather liked it there—I felt warm and safe; like I belonged there. I felt all pretense of tension leak out of my body as I relaxed into their embrace—Nora had her arm hooked through mine—and sighed contentedly.

"So," Nora said softly enough that my giggling parents couldn't hear, but somehow drowned out their giggling. "How was your date, sweetheart?"

I bit back a grin, stupidly overjoyed at her use of the endearment. "I had a really great time," I told her, gazing at her with my big, grey eyes. "Bryan was so nice, so sweet. He didn't let me drive his Harley," I added, sourly, "but I still had fun."

Nora arched a delicate eyebrow. "Harley, as in Harley Davidson? Harley Davidson as in Harley Davidson motorcycles?" I nodded. "You actually wanted to drive it?" I nodded again. Behind me, I heard Patch chuckle, a rumbling sound in his chest.

"I had one when Nora and I were dating," Patch said to me at my questioning look. "She was so terrified to get on it, it was comical. In fact, I think I still have it somewhere…" he mused, a thoughtful look gracing his features.

"Don't you dare bring that thing near me," Nora warned, "or you can sleep outside the whole night. Make me ride it, and you can sleep outside the whole _month,_ you hear me?"

I laughed softly at their banter, snuggling deeper into the couch cushions, inviting them to scoot closer. They did, and we were suddenly hip to hip. The warmth of their embrace was getting to me, being so comfortable it was making me sleepy. I let out a small yawn. Then I remembered something.

"Before I go to sleep I gotta get the mail," I murmured to myself. "Mom," I said louder to get her attention. When she didn't respond, I snapped my fingers and clapped my hands loudly—effectively jarring her and my dad out of their bubble. "Sorry to burst your little giggling bubble," I said, not sounding sorry in the least, "but I must ask, have you gotten the mail yet?"

Mom didn't say anything; just stared at the way I was sitting in between Patch and Nora, calculating how comfortable I looked, how pleased I seemed to be there. I saw a flash of something in her eyes—jealousy. But it was gone as fast as it had appeared, and she said, "No, actually I haven't. And you haven't finished telling me about your date." The last part was said half-heartedly—and it sparked my temper.

"Well, you of all people should know I don't like being ignored. Especially when someone asks me something and doesn't even bother sticking around to hear the answer. Not that you two left—well, physically, anyway," I almost sneered. "I'm gonna go get the mail." And so saying, I stood up and jogged to the foyer, wrenching the door open and stepping out into the cold.

I'd forgotten my jacket inside, so the cold, icy air hit me like a ton of bricks. I ran to the mailbox and snatched the packets of ads and letters out of it, shutting the lid and running back inside the house. I walked into the living room, sifting through the letters and brushing the ads to the bottom of the stack.

"Anything good? Or is it all advertisements like usual? And Heaven forbid there be no bills in there, too," I heard Dad say. I grinned, and looked up, but then ended up looking back down as an address on a letter that was currently on the top of the stack caused red flags to go up in my mind. My forehead creased. It was the hospital address.

The letter contained my test results.

"Naomi? What's wrong, sweetheart?" Nora's soft voice coaxed the words that had been stuck in my throat to come out.

"It—it's my test results," I said in a shaky voice. It must've been too soft for Mom to hear, because her forehead creased in confusion.

"What did you say?" she asked.

I cleared my throat and held up the letter in a trembling hand. "I said it's a letter from the hospital. It's my test results."

My parents went deathly still. Nora and Patch were watching with a curious wariness, their gazes alternating between my parents and me. Swallowing hard, I slowly went over to sit between Patch and Nora again, trying to make the tremors in my knees stop. I dropped the rest of the mail on the coffee table and looked at my parents.

"Well," Mom choked out, "let's see what it says." I noticed she tightened her hand around Dad's.

I nodded, and looked back down at the letter. Very carefully, I slid my finger under the flap and dragged it across, ripping the seal. I lifted the paper out of the envelope and studied it silently.

There were charts and a whole bunch of medical terms typed beside them that I didn't understand, so I flipped to the back to read the final diagnosis. With my heart in my throat and my pulse ricocheting all around, I took a deep breath and looked.

"Oh." The words slipped from my lips, emotionless and detached, summing up my feelings quite nicely. I was numb, the world swirling and pulsating in and out of focus. I could only see that my parents looked horror stricken, and panicked. Their lips were moving, forming words that I could not hear. I hadn't let them see the diagnosis, and they were frantically trying to rip the paper out of my hands, though somehow through the haze, I was able to acknowledge that I didn't want them to see it. My grip was like steel, and the more they tried to snatch the paper out of my hand, the tighter my grip became.

I stood up on unsteady feet, swaying slightly. I could hear my breathing in my ears, heavy and labored, and from far away, I felt two people get up beside me: Nora and Patch. My parents were still fussing and probably shouting, and now I knew by the way that Nora's and Patch's lips were moving just as fast that they were arguing because of me. I wanted to get away from it, feeling light-headed as if I were going to faint. I took a step, but my legs gave out, and my body hurtled toward the floor.

I braced myself for the slam of hard, cold wood, but was surprised when a pair of strong arms caught me and pulled me close. Through my blurry vision Patch's face appeared, anxious and worried. His lips formed one word: my name. One arm was holding me, cradling me, and the other was stroking my face, my hair; the way a father would stroke and hold his daughter. I must not have been in control of what I was doing; if I had been, I'm not sure I would've done what I did next: I raised a trembling hand and placed it over his on my face.

His expression was indescribable; it was a mixture of surprise, guilt, happiness, and worry all in one. For one split second, there was even sadness. There was a strong tug at my mind, telling me to remember something. Something in his expression reminded me of something I'd seen so long ago when I was really young. I don't know how old, but something told me I shouldn't have even been able to recall it. A burst of light exploded behind my eyes, momentarily blinding me. An image flashed in my mind:

An image of Patch's face above mine, with a great sadness in his eyes; his gaze was sad and filled with longing and heartbreak. He bent in to touch his lips to my forehead gently. Nora's face appeared next, her eyes puffy and red with tears that were still trailing down her face. She, too, bent down to kiss my forehead. The image suddenly disappeared.

_What was that? _

I looked Patch in the eye. My mouth moved on its own accord, whispering a word I was sure everyone never expected me to say:

_"Dad."_

Then, I was swallowed up by a thick, suffocating darkness.

**Hola! What do y'all think? Good? Bad? Okay? Tell me in a review! Two reviews per chapter and I'll update, remember that! This is a record: I wrote a full 9,661 words for you guys! I better get some good reviews for this. -_-;;**

**Please Review! Ciao!**

**~Alee V.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Hey everybody! Oh my fridging goodness, I can't believe how many reviews I got on the last chapter! I was moving into a house on cloud nine! I can't thank you all enough, I swear! Thanks to:**

**Hockeychick: Thanks for reviewing; I'm glad you like my story! And I like your penname; hockey is one of my favorite sports. Even though I don't really play it on the ice. **

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**Drako love: Thanks! I try my best to make them seem as much like themselves as possible. Trust me; it took everything I had not to make him kiss her! But I figured it seemed too predictable. Now, you guys thought he was gonna kiss her, right? Since that's what most couples in books do on the first date? Well, I wanted to be original. Thus, he didn't kiss her. At least, not yet. *Evil smile***

**Fuzzy-vampire-bunnay: Thank you, I'm glad you like the characters, the detail, and the length. I try my best. :) I wanted to make Patch seem like a committed father, like even though he didn't really think about it before Nora got pregnant, he found he was really looking forward to it. I wanted him to be a good father, make him really love Naomi even though she had no idea who he was. It kills him that she doesn't know it. So soon they'll have to spill the beans. He's supposed to be real protective of her; she's his baby girl. :)**

**Tori: I'm glad you like it! You know, that was part of the soul reason that I started writing this story. I just kept thinking when I read **_**Silence**_**, "If he's this protective of Nora, how protective would he be if he had a baby girl?" And then, Naomi was born…. :) And I am so touched that you check Living A Lie every morning, I really am. That just made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. I really appreciate it. You have no idea how much I do. And thanks for telling me who sang what. I felt so stupid afterwards, because it seemed so obvious! Thanks so much!**

**Well, that's all of you guys! If I missed anyone, I'm sorry! BTW, you guys all had rockin' pennames. **

**Read on!**

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I was lost, tumbling and spinning around in my mind. I couldn't form a single coherent thought; the only thing I knew was that I was slipping in and out of consciousness.

I kept hearing voices. Most of the time I could identify them, but sometimes they sounded off, muffled as though someone were crying, or loud as though someone were yelling. Sometimes they even sounded too soft for me to know if my subconscious had conjured it up or not. I simply couldn't tell the difference between dreaming and reality.

"This is entirely my fault," a voice sobbed: my mom. "If I had only gotten the mail earlier, she wouldn't have found out like this!"

"Not just yours; mine, too. I should've stopped her from going outside. I should've gone out to get it." Dad.

"What is it that she has?" a frightened voice asked. I couldn't tell who this was, but it was a feminine voice.

"What do you think, Nora?" Mom's voice snapped. "She has a heart disease or something, but the doctors couldn't tell what it was. She was born with it. Didn't your doctors tell you anything when you…"

I didn't hear the rest of Mom's words. Nora? Who's…?

Oh. Nora. Of course.

"There's no need to be rude, Vee." This time, it was a man's voice, deep and quiet. My mind tried sluggishly to put a name to it.

_Patch,_ my mind supplied.

"You shut your trap, Patch! I wasn't talking to you! I am soo sorry…" Mom trailed off into such loud sobs that I imagined—with much effort, mind you—her body shaking, racked with the violent sobs.

Dad said something to her, something I assumed was consoling, and I decided I'd had enough.

I tried to move, tried to make a sound—and found that I couldn't. I felt as though my essence was weightless, drifting through my mind as though drifting through a vacuum cleaner. The more I struggled, the more lost and detached I became. I was stuck inside my own body—at least that's how I felt. Trapped. And panicky.

Eventually, I gave into the pull of unconsciousness, though, when I became too exhausted to try to wake up. I found it quite peaceful there.

That was, until I started to dream.

I dreamt that I was trapped under water, screaming and thrashing wildly as I tried to escape the vise-like grip of—something, on my legs. The more I struggled, the more tired I became, and the tighter the grip became. I was losing air fast, and I was scared out of my mind, fear throwing logic and rational thought right out the window. I was still screaming as the invisible thing wrapped itself around me, pulling my arms to my sides as the desperately tried to grasp something, anything to pull me up to the surface—if there was any surface at all.

I choked as it eventually squeezed around my throat, dragging me even lower into the darkness as I grew limp, deprived of oxygen, fading from the world….

I woke up, though it was the same as before; just drifting through my subconscious. I must've woken up during an intense conversation, because I heard frantic footsteps sounding from below and above me, back and forth. I realized then, that someone was pacing near me. It must've been either my mother, or Nora, because the footsteps were light on the floor.

"…Never been unconscious this long before. Should we call the doctor, Scott? Or should we just take her into the ER? I don't know what to do—,"

"Shhhhh," someone murmured. The footsteps suddenly stopped, and I was grateful. The sounds were awfully loud, pounding through my head like a migraine.

"You need to stop worrying," the same person continued in the same soft voice. "All this worrying isn't good for the baby. For both of them," the person—my dad—added. I knew he was referring to me and the baby my mom was pregnant with. That was just like him to call me a baby; his baby girl.

"What's the longest she's ever been unconscious before? How many times has she ever passed out like this?" Patch's voice asked.

"Like this? Never." Mom's voice sounded grim. "The longest she's ever passed out was a half hour. She woke up on her own. She's only ever passed out three times; once when she was eight, another time when she was twelve, and right now. She was at school the other time when she was twelve. They called the ambulance and she was taken into the ER. Naomi woke up fifteen minutes in."

Suddenly, I felt the bed—I guessed that was what I was on, in my room from the smell of paper and paint and body spray—dip with the weight of someone or something heavy. All of a sudden I felt a hand at my throat, warm and steady, against my skin. With a start, I realized my skin was wet and clammy with sweat.

_Must've been from that dream,_ I thought.

The hand at my throat grabbed something—my necklace. The chain slid easily on my neck, making me conscious to the fact that I was sweaty all over, and that I was shivering slightly, as if with cold. I felt a tug from the chain, and the pulling suddenly stopped.

"She still wears this?" Patch's voice rang quietly with slight surprise and awe, as though he couldn't believe that I wore a plain men's chain.

"Yeah. She's never taken it off. Real attached to it, she is. She's never wanted to, saying that she loves it; it's her favorite piece of jewelry," Dad answered him. "As a baby, she would chew on it when she started teething. Before that, it wasn't rattles she played with; it was that necklace. And for her dance recital when she learned ballet at age six, she wasn't wearing some little girl's pendant or anything like that; she was wearing that plain silver men's chain. It was worse than her blue baby blankie. I mean, she grew out of that when she was five. She'll never grow out of that necklace, Patch."

I had no idea why they were talking about it. I mean, it was just a necklace, right?

But even as I thought it, I knew it was so much more than that. All those things that Dad said were true. I've always loved that necklace. And I always will.

"She's so damn proud of it, too. She said she liked it because she thought it made her look tough; because it made her look different. Anyone who made fun of her, or asked about it would get slugged if she felt offended. After the first kid, nobody ever asked again."

If I could've smiled, I would have right then. That little chain held so many memories that even a history book would be jealous. Not really, of course; it doesn't have as many as a history book, but you get my meaning. It was everything to me, more than even my drawings. However, it was exactly the same as my little blue blankie; just because I grew out if it doesn't mean it's lost any of its value! In my eyes, those things are priceless. Meaning, I wouldn't give them up for the world.

"She's loved you straight from the beginning, man. You gotta tell her soon. Otherwise, it'll be too late to save anything you could have with her."

What? What were they talking about _now_? Tell me what? And what did they mean I loved them from the start? Could they be talking about themselves? My mom and dad, I mean?

They seriously must love confusing me.

With a start, my thoughts took a sharp turn—which I knew would annoy and irritate me later—in an entirely different direction. I could feel the hand at my throat and the sweat on my skin, and the tremors shaking my body slightly. The last time I was semi-awake I couldn't feel a thing. I wondered if I could move or make a noise now.

So I tried.

I tried to turn, to open my mouth and speak, but found that I couldn't. I tried to at least shake my head and make a peep, but still, I couldn't.

Meanwhile, the conversation still went on, and when the voice of my mother escalated to a near shout, I stopped trying to move, and listened.

"I think we should wait a little longer," Nora's voice said, sounding hesitant. "I know we said we would tell her within this week, but to tell you the truth, I—we—want to get to know her better—,"

"So you can what? Get to know her so you can decide if you want her or not?" Mom's voice whipped out, harsh and accusing.

Whoa—what? Want me or not?

"No! No, absolutely not! Vee, how could you even say that? You know we're not like that." Nora sounded horrified.

"Well, what then?"

"We just want to wait until she trusts us a little more; until she knows us better. I mean, we can't just tell her in the place of strangers in her eyes!"

_Tell me what?_ my mind literally growled.

Mom and Dad seemed to simultaneously chuckle darkly. "That's definitely the worst ever approach with this kid," Dad said, in a grim knowing tone.

"Why is that?" Patch's tone was equally grim, without the familiarity.

"Because the more familiar you get with her, the more she knows and likes you, the more she'll trust you, and the more she trusts you, the more betrayed she'll feel!" Mom exploded. "And the more betrayed she feels, the less of a chance you have at even _seeing_ her again! The more betrayed she is, the more of her we lose; the less the chance is of ever seeing that big of a scar heal."

Was I really that bad?

Yes, I thought, yes I am.

"Well, then at least let us have some more time to prepare," Nora reasoned. She sounded shaken though.

Several thoughts were blown out, sounding frustrated and conflicted.

It seemed to me that the air was getting hotter by the second. It was like I was baking in an oven. Sweat was forming on my back, soaking through my already-soaked shirt. Any slight breeze I got blown my way was hotter than the last. I was literally swimming in a pool of perspiration.

A gasp came from one of the adults in the room, and footsteps came rushing towards me. A hand was suddenly on my forehead, feeling my temperature. It drew back almost instantly, with a hiss from the owner.

"Scott, I am going to start the car. Get her in a blanket and come to the car when you hear me honk," Mom said in a rushed voice, and then there were footsteps getting softer and softer with each one as they made their way downstairs.

Dad put his hand on my shoulders, pulling my limp body into an awkward sitting position that I couldn't hold for my life. I slumped against his knees as he tried to wrap me up in a blanket. Another pair of hands were suddenly holding my up as Dad wrapped the blanket around my shoulders and the rest of me, encasing me in an oven-like cocoon. But instead of being pulled in his direction, I was pulled downwards, toward another person entirely.

"Hey!" Dad complained, but Patch, it seemed, was hearing none of it. He held me tightly to him, carrying me carefully downstairs and out to the car. He stopped, though, when Mom confronted him.

"I told Scott to bring her down; not you," she nearly snarled, sounding furious.

"I know," Patch informed her simply. It was the kind of tone that both irritated the other person, and dared them to say anything that denied what the speaker wanted. I was familiar with that tone; I used it sometimes in the rare times that I talked to strangers.

I heard the slap of something hitting jeans, and I knew that Mom had thrown her arms up in the air in exasperation. I heard her car door slam shut with an air of frustration. I felt Patch move to open the back door behind the driver's side, trying not to jostle me too much, but he stopped when someone else helped him open the door. I sensed and half guessed it was Nora.

As he slid into the seat, waves of cold and hot rolled all over my body, making goosebumps rise on my skin. I felt like I was burning, wrapped up in that thick blanket with my head tucked in the crook of Patch's neck like a child. Didn't they know how hot it was in here? If I was already feverish, what good was it gonna do to wrap me in a blanket and practically _bake_ me in it?

In my opinion, _none_.

I passed out right about then, a particularly searing hot flash of heat knocking me out. Let's just say that if I could have screamed then, I definitely would have.

~000~

_Beep. Beep. Beep…._

A weird beeping sound woke me up. I knew without a doubt that this time I would be able to move. And just when I was about to, I realized something that made me slightly less happy to be awake.

Unfortunately for me, I'd woken up in the middle of another argument. Again.

"We can't tell her when she wakes up! That's insanity!" A male voice exclaimed in a whisper. I recognized with a jolt that Patch was the speaker. If Patch was here, then so was Nora; I had a feeling they were inseparable; I don't know why, just call it a hunch. What were they still doing here?

"Please, just give us time," Nora pleaded. I found it hard not to say yes to a voice with such desperation in it. "We'll tell her soon, but we just want more time. I don't want to lose her."

That last part was so quiet I almost thought I had made it up. But I had a nagging feeling in the back of my mind—who were they talking about. I had a feeling I should know who they are talking about. And then I remembered; it was like a dam breaking, a flood of memories from last night—was it even last night?—rushing in my head, giving me a headache. They were talking about me. Why would Nora and Patch lose me? What were they talking about?

A frustrated huff was let out from someone angry—my mother, of course. "Fine," she huffed. "But you only get another two weeks. That's it. If you don't tell her by then, I'll tell her myself. And that's a promise. And you know I keep my promises, Nora Grey Cipriano."

I knew it was a statement, but that did nothing to cover the fact that she meant it as a threat. I knew my mom was overprotective sometimes, but this almost seemed over the top; she was threatening her long-time best friend because of me! But what was the reason that had her so bent on telling me about some big dark secret that Patch and Nora didn't want to tell me yet?

I hoped to find that out.

I decided that right then was the best time for me to try out my limp limbs before they started up again. So I tried to move my head.

And ended up gasping at the pain I felt by barely moving my head not even an inch to the right. My eyes fluttered, opening and closing as they tried to adjust to the bright lighting in the room. From the back of my mind, I barely registered that someone had just rushed to my side not three seconds ago. Not just one person, I realized as the pain subsided and my eyes could open wider without tearing up. Everyone had rushed up to my sides. Mom and Dad on one side, Nora and Patch on the other. They all had anxious, worried expressions. It could have been comical—you know, if my head didn't hurt so much.

I took in a deep, quivering breath, cautiously checking if I could, before I spoke.

"What happened…?" My voice sounded small, vulnerable, and weak to my ears. While one part of my mind told me that it was from disuse, the other half had my usual ideas. I was showing weakness—the one thing I hated alongside liars.

"Oh, baby," Mom said tearfully. "Are you alright? Do you feel okay? Scott, go call the nurse." She looked at my dad briefly as she spoke her command. Dad got up and moved to the door to call the nurse from the hall.

It was at that moment that I realized I was in a hospital. My mind seemed to be running slow today. I was in a hospital bed, wearing a hospital gown, in a hospital room, surrounded by the last people I saw before I passed out. I didn't want to say fainted; it sounded too girly, and weak to me. No offense intended.

"What happened? Why am I in the hospital? Mom, what's going on?" I started to get up, but crumpled back into the hospital bed in pain, trying to regain the breath that had been knocked out of me.

"Are you okay, Naomi?" Mom fluttered her hands like she did when she got panicked or nervous. "Oh, for God's sake, Scott, call the damn nurse! Baby, are you okay?"

"Mom, I'm fine," I said through gritted teeth. "Just—answer my questions, please. Quit trying to change the subject."

Mom exchanged looks with Nora, Patch, and Dad. Then she turned back to me. "You mean you don't remember? You don't remember anything that happened last night?" I didn't like the tone of her voice. It sounded strange, and when I realized what it was, I felt a flush of anger run through me: Hope. She was hoping that I would have forgotten the events of last night.

That was partially true, but I remembered enough to know that it was something they weren't going to enjoy recounting. Nonetheless, I told her the truth.

"Well, kinda," I said, hissing a little as I tried to move on the bed into a more comfortable position. "I remember I went on a date last night. I remember you and Dad ignored me when I tried to tell you about it. I remember going out to get the mail and then…." I trailed off as I remembered what the hospital letter had said.

Then I looked up into my mother's eyes, my own eyes as hard as stone. "You read the letter, didn't you?"

Mom tried to look away from my face, but I grabbed her chin in my hand like she had done to me whenever I had gotten in trouble as a little kid. She froze at my touch, shocked, but I was beyond caring; I was slowly getting pissed off at her, and at Dad.

"You did," I told her. "And that's why I passed out. Because of the results. It was an attack. Another one. Different from the rest."

I would have continued, but Mom stopped me. "That's enough." Her voice was stern, and she took my hand off her face.

I scowled. "Am I wrong?"

Mom frowned, and I knew I was treading on thin ice. There was a fine line between the "safe-zone" and "pushing it." Guess which one I was on?

"No," she said slowly, her voice low; she was warning me. "Dr. Conner already confirmed that it was another attack. He said the shock must've triggered it."

Before I could question her further, a nurse came bursting into the room. She was a short, kind-looking lady, with rosy cheeks and dark brown hair with eyes to match. She was wearing pink scrubs, and the mandatory white shoes.

"Well, it's great to see your eyes open, dear!" She greeted me. "I'm Martha, and from your charts, I understand that you are Naomi Jarene Coranda." I nodded at her, and she continued. "Well, I'm just gonna check your vitals, and then I'll call the doctor to see you."

I waited patiently for her to finish, not saying a word, but smiling when she said goodbye to me and left the room. I glanced out of the corner of my eye to see the adults looking at me. I decided to carry on our previous conversation.

"So it's true then? It really is a… potentially lethal heart disease?" I almost couldn't bring myself to say it. It just didn't seem real. How could I, a normal sixteen-year-old girl, have been born with something that doctors hadn't even heard of? The most they could figure out was that it had the potential to kill me. I could die at a real young age. I could die before I reached the age of twenty, or eighteen, let alone the age of thirty.

How could one girl, who barely said a word to anyone, cope with that?

Exactly the same way that I had been dealing with it before I knew it was deadly. By just dealing with it.

"Yeah, baby," Dad said softly. "It's real."

At that moment, Dr. Conner came through the door, his brisk knock drowned out by his opening the door. He always did that when we came to see him—whether it was just to us, or all of his patients, I had no clue.

"Hello, Naomi, Vee, Scott," he greeted us each with a nod and a smile. Dr. Conner was a man of average height, certainly not as tall as my dad or Patch, though. He was thin, with graying, formerly black hair, a beaked nose, and sometimes a pair of horn-rimmed glasses. He continued smiling until he caught sight of Patch and Nora standing a little off to the side from the desk that hosted a computer monitor on a cabinet door, its keyboard sitting beneath it on the actual desk.

Dr. Conner looked between them and me, confusion wrinkling his forehead. I attempted sitting up a little more, but sucked in a sharp breath through my teeth in pain. Dr. Conner immediately snapped into action.

"Don't move, please, Naomi. I would ask how you are feeling, but it seems a bit obvious, now," he added, eyeing me pointedly as he came around to check on my readings. "I think if the pain seems too much, I'll have the nurse give you a sedative…" he murmured.

"No!" I exclaimed in a panic. I was so panicked that I actually sat up straight, regretting it the second my brain caught up with the messages my nerves were sending. I held in a cry, but I felt tears sting my eyes. I blinked them back in a hurry before anyone could see them.

"I'm fine," I told him. "See?" I moved my arms and twisted my torso in a fast manner, but gingerly enough that it didn't bring me too much pain and so that no one noticed my hesitation.

Dr. Conner's eyes were scrutinizing me, trying to see how true my words were. I must've passed his examination, because he looked away with a soft sigh, moving away from my monitors.

"Well, from what your parents told me, the reason you are here is because you fainted after reading a letter that came in the mail yesterday night. You passed out from the shock and surprise of whatever was in that letter, which is something I assume you all know by now." Dr. Conner looked around at everyone for confirmation.

He pressed his hand to my shoulder and gently pushed me back down on the bed before continuing. "It was another—panic attack, you could call it. Heart attack seems too harsh, and not exactly fitting for the situation that you are in. They aren't heart attacks, per se, but they are something near it. Your only symptom so far has been fainting, correct?"

I nodded.

"So, from the analysis we did with your blood in the lab, we got nothing, no sign whatsoever to indicate any sort of health problem. On the contrary, everything was perfectly healthy—radiantly so. We didn't get anything from that. We didn't get anything from the X-rays, no unusual masses of any sort in your vital organs, or otherwise. It wasn't until we actually took a look at the scans we made that we saw something.

"Now, now; don't get on those worried faces. We didn't see anything bad. We just saw that your heart was… well, different. It seemed to be working against itself. Attacking itself from the inside. Why it is doing this, I have no idea. It's truly unfathomable; unreasonable. It's never been heard of before. Your heart seems to be attacking itself in the same way that cancer cells do. That certainly doesn't mean that you _have_ cancer," he said at our looks of horror. Dr. Conner held his hands up in the universal sign of _relax._

"We know that it is potentially dangerous to have this kind of abuse on practically the most important organ in the human body. It's amazing how healthy you are considering how your heart is working. We don't know if another attack will kill you, or have better or worse aftereffects like this. Try to avoid anything that could cause another attack. For your own wellbeing, please. I understand that last time, four years ago, it was caused by running. I believe I sent a note for your teachers about that, correct?"

I nodded numbly.

"Okay and I understand that you have continued to run, stating that it doesn't affect you at all anymore. The shock caused you to have an attack this time. What about the first time, when you first brought her here to me? I always forget that one," Dr. Conner added ruefully.

"I—" I cleared my throat. "I was just minding my own business on the playground that day in third grade, not doing anything really extraneous. All of a sudden I felt this horrible pain in my chest, and I had stars and weird colors in my vision. I couldn't fathom what was wrong with me. Sarah called the teachers, and they called an ambulance, and I was here. I passed out in the ambulance, I couldn't breathe. The pain was just too much. The hospital thought it was something like an asthma attack. But it wasn't; they figured that out when you looked a little closer, dug a little deeper."

I looked at the doctor appreciatively. He was, after all, part of the reason that I was still alive and not taking unnecessary asthma medication.

"Ah," he nodded to himself. A thoughtful look glazed over his features.

"So, when am I allowed to go home?" I asked Dr. Conner.

"Well," he said, snapping out of his trance. "I would say, after about a few hours. I just want to make sure your heart rates and levels are stable enough that we know you won't be getting any more attacks anytime soon. Alright?"

I nodded. He ruffled my hair, a habit he had when it came to me, claiming I was too cute to not do that to. That was seven years ago. When I was nine.

After checking my eyes for dilation, he left me alone with my parents and Patch and Nora.

So, it seemed I had a heart that thought it was a cancer cell. What a conversation starter, eh?

"You're not going to make me stop running, are you?"

My parents seemed surprised at my quiet, wary tone. They shared a glance before Mom answered me.

"I don't think so…. Should we?" she looked at Dad.

Dad shrugged. "I don't see any reason to."

I nearly sagged with relief. It was one thing to have to stay away from running or anything of the sort for four weeks a couple years ago, but to have to avoid it entirely until further notice? It can't happen.

I couldn't do it.

"Does anyone have a pen or paper?" I felt this insane urge to draw, to pick up a pencil and just make something. I had no idea what it meant, or what I was going to draw, but I just had to do it; otherwise, I'd explode.

Somewhere, Mom came up with a note pad, and Patch offered a black ink pen. I thanked them, staring for a few moments at my new tools.

Then, I started to draw.

My hands were shaky at first, still under the influence of my attack. But they gradually got steadier as I continued drawing. The adults eventually got tired of standing there looking at nothing and decided to come watch me draw. They seemed fascinated at how little mistakes I made when I was using a pen.

The picture in my head was so simple, but so complex at the same time. Complex because I was drawing something I'd never even thought of before. I didn't know who this person was, or why I was drawing them; only that I had to.

The face was small and feminine, with a small nose, and light grey eyes. Dark lashes framed the eyes, making the grey stand out way better than any eyeliner or mascara could. Small, plump lips, tinted with a rosy red color. Dark, black curls framed the small head, and I knew then what I was drawing: a child. Not much older than a few months.

I finished drawing, and looked at my work. It wasn't quite like the image in my head because I didn't have any color pencils to color it with, but it was close enough. A black-and-white version of it. I held it out as if to look at it from a different angle.

But I was really looking at the adults in my peripheral vision.

To sum it up in one word, I could say their identical expressions held one major emotion: horror.

That got the wheels in my head turning. They knew who this girl was. And whoever she was, she seemed to freak them out. Before I could stop myself, I asked, "Who is this?"

I turned a hard glare on my parents. They seemed bewildered, baffled, and tongue tied all at the same time.

"Uh," my dad said, dragging the word out as if hoping someone would interrupt him with an answer.

I spun on Patch and Nora. "Who is this?" I said with more firmness in my voice.

Patch tried to keep his face indifferent, but I could see that he was shaken by my drawing. Nora was trying to keep her face blank, but her eyes gave her away, exuding an expression of someone who had just been caught stealing or knowing something they weren't supposed to. It seemed weird to see it in her eyes; I mean, shouldn't _I _be the one wearing that expression instead?

"Anybody gonna answer me anytime soon?" I was getting frustrated with the answers I was getting—pretty much the lack-there-of.

"Um, Naomi," Patch cleared his throat. "That's… you."

To say I was shocked would be an understatement. "_Me?_"

Mom nodded, backing him up. "Yes, hun, that's you when you were about three and a half months. Such a beautiful baby girl you were; not that you aren't beautiful now, of course."

Now that I thought about it, it did kind of look like me. The same eyes, same lashes, same mouth… why had I been drawing myself? And how had Patch known that it was me?

"How did you know it was me, Patch?" I voiced my thoughts. My eyes narrowed, calculating his answer, searching for lies or faltering tell-tale signs.

"I just knew," he said simply. He looked me straight in the eye. I was confused. He wasn't lying. He was telling the truth… but that still didn't answer my question. _How _had he known?

"That isn't a real answer," I almost snapped, "please, for once, tell me a straight answer."

"Because…." Patch started. "Because, to be completely honest, I'd know that face anywhere."

I was thoroughly confused right then. The answers were all leading me into circles of thoughts, tangling them and making knots when I wanted none. If I continued at this rate, I wouldn't be let out of the hospital. And I really wanted to get out.

Mom groaned, and Dad face-palmed himself. Again, I felt as though our roles were reversed. Shouldn't _I _have been doing that, not _them?_

"Nora," I groaned, "please, give me a straight answer. Patch is too good at making a person's thoughts go in circles. My head is _hurting._ How did he know it was me?"

Nora was silent, contemplating her answer. Meanwhile, I rubbed my fingers in circular motions on my temples. I wasn't lying when I said my head hurt. It was throbbing, rhythmically. It was ignorable, so I tried to ignore it the best I could.

"Well," Nora said quietly. "Maybe he meant that Vee showed us some photos of you when you were on your date last night. I mean, my husband is a very complex man; there's no telling what he means sometimes." She shrugged as if to say, _what can you do?_

While it still wasn't a sufficient enough answer for me, I let the subject drop. Arguing with Nora seemed wrong; almost as if it went against my nature. Instead, I tried a different approach; I didn't know what they were talking about when I was drifting in my subconscious. Hmm, still sounds weird thinking that.

"When I was passed out," I began, keeping my voice carefully indifferent, "I was kinda floating in a weird lucid state. I mean, I could hear things but I couldn't move at all. I heard a lot of arguments, though I couldn't hear all of them. I was just… drifting in unconsciousness. It is a horrible feeling, trust me. So, what were you guys arguing about?"

"Whether to take you to the hospital," Mom said. But I noticed how she swallowed in nervousness.

I gave her a look. "Naw, really? I heard that one. I'm talking about the others. About telling me some deep, dark secret that you two"—I looked at Patch and Nora pointedly—"are supposed to tell me. So let's hear it. What do you have to say? I'm all ears." I waved my hands around my ears for emphasis.

I could literally _feel _Nora trembling; how close she was to breaking. Her eyes were heavy with tears that were about to fall, and I wasn't even sure if she was _breathing_. It made my heart contract painfully to see her like that, though I had no idea why.

My gaze softened. "Hey, now," I said, in a voice as soft and smooth as feathers. "There's no need for that, Nora. You don't have to cry…." I trailed off as one tear slid down her cheek, and her shoulders jerked with the first sob. I had a feeling that if she let herself cry there would be so many more.

Nora wouldn't meet my eyes. She just stared at one point across the room to my left at a poster with the male reproductive organ described in full detail. I always hated coming into this particular room for that reason. Whenever Dr. Conner asked me to look straight ahead to check my pupil dilation, I was forced to stare at that horrible poster.

Several more tears slid down her cheeks and I just couldn't take it anymore. It was killing me to see her so sad like this. So without thinking, I touched her cheek, wiping away the tears with my thumb at the same time that Patch put his arm around her shoulders. I glanced at him briefly to find him already looking at me with calculating, curious eyes that held much more anxiety than they let on, I was sure.

"Don't cry, Nora," I said again, this time having to talk around a sudden lump in my throat. "You'll make me cry, and I never cry." That much was true. I never cried—at least not in front of people.

At this, Nora's grey eyes flickered over to me, seemingly very conscious of my hand which still rested on her cheek softly. Those eyes that were so similar to my own assessed me, taking in my rosy cheeks, puffy eyes, and the tears welling up in them. If anything, it only made her cry even more.

No the effect I was hoping for. At all.

And then I did something equally unexpected: I started crying. The first few seconds were just silent tears as I tried to be strong, but my resolve broke down quickly as the situation really sunk in for the first time. I could die if I had another attack like this. I could lose everything, ruin everything, because of one little mistake. And I was making Nora cry. Nora, who I felt was dearer to me than almost anyone else in the world besides Patch, Mom, and Dad.

Sobs started wracking my body as I joined Nora in our little bawling fest. I had one hand covering my mouth, trying to stifle the horrible sobs coming from my mouth, and the other was tugging Nora onto the hospital bed beside me. I half expected her to decline, but was grateful when she folded herself next to me, facing my direction and curling her arm around my shoulders and neck the way you would with a newborn infant.

I snuggled into her warm embrace, our sobs gradually slowing, putting my head on her chest. I could hear and feel her heartbeat, one of the steadiest things I'd ever heard in my life. I felt in-tune with it somehow, as if I'd know it anywhere. Nora's other arm came and wrapped around me from the other side, locking with her other hand, and creating a circle of safety and warmth.

"I'm sorry I made you cry." My voice was small and childish, cracking a little from crying before. I didn't mind at the moment. "I didn't want to make you cry. I never wanna make you cry."

"Shhhhh," Nora shushed me, and I felt the vibrations from where my head lay on her chest. "It's alright; I didn't mean to make you cry either. I never want to see you hurting or crying, baby. It kills me to see you hurt, or upset."

I didn't say anything, chewing on this new piece of information. How had I become so attached to these two people that I just met not even a week ago? I felt as if I'd known them my whole life long. I supposed it was true what she said; if I felt that strongly for her, she must have felt the same for me, and Patch must, too.

It was then that I realized that the room was silent enough that I could hear everyone breathing in there above the beeping of the monitors. I looked around from my spot in Nora's embrace and saw that my parents were nowhere to be found.

"Went to get coffee from the cafeteria," Patch murmured when he caught me looking for them.

A thought struck me. "How long did I pass out for?"

"You passed out at around eleven. We took you to the ER at around three A.M. And you woke up an hour ago. Right now, my phone says it's ten in the morning." Patch's tone was nonchalant, but I read deeper into it and found the slightest hint of tiredness.

I've been unconscious for _eleven hours_. _Holy. Freakshow_.

"Were you guys awake the whole time?" Nora rubbed my shoulders as they tensed with my distress.

"Yeah, we didn't mind though. No one could really sleep, anyway." Patch laughed humorlessly, but his eyes were a little tight. I wondered why. Maybe he was remembering just how tense those sleepless hours were.

"Well, you can sleep now," I said. I started to get up. "I don't really need this bed anyway—"

"No!" I jumped at how loud Nora's and Patch's voices were in the silent room. Nora's embrace tightened around me, and I lied back down with her, not really wanting to get up anyway.

"You still need to rest," Nora said in a considerably much softer voice. "Your body needs sleep to heal. And we don't really need sleep. Once you're our age, you'll find you need it less and less, compared to when you were younger. Trust me." Her voice was wry, and I imagined she had a wry smile on her lips.

"Well, I don't know…" I was still uncertain of what to do.

"Shhhhh," Nora smoothed my hair back. "It's okay. Just sleep." She began humming a tune that I somehow recognized from a different place. A happier, _younger_ place that I used to know. Deep in my heart, I recognized it, but my mind couldn't place a time or date on it. All I could tell was that I was probably very young when I'd heard it.

Nora's cool hands were smoothing my hair from my forehead, making me sleepy. I knew I had to tell her something, but it was fading from my mind the sleepier I got. So I told her as fast as I could before I forgot it.

"Nora?"

"Hmm?" she murmured.

"You don't have to tell me what I wanted you to… not yet at least. I wanna know, but… you don't have to tell me right away." There; that was… more or less what I was trying to say.

"Okay, baby, okay. I'll tell you someday. Someday soon," she muttered. She resumed her humming, this time running her hand through my hair in soothing motions. I felt like I was in heaven. I felt safe and warm and so utterly _happy_, being here in Nora's arms. I felt like this was something I'd been deprived of, had never had enough of, the way a swimmer feels when they've been holding their breath under water for the longest time and were finally breathing out of the water again.

And as my eyelids drooped shut, I heard Patch's deep rumbling voice join in the humming.

~000~

A few hours came and went, and I was finally on the way home, staring out the window of the back seat beside Nora and Patch. They both looked kind of funny, sitting in the back seat where children usually have to sit instead of adults. Nonetheless, I was happy to be going home after all that waiting in the hospital doing nothing. That was torture.

We finally arrived, and the first thing I did was run into the kitchen and start making chocolate cocoa. I just had the strangest craving for it. My parents hollered at me to make them some, and I hollered back that I would.

Right when I was pouring it into mugs, my phone buzzed in my back pocket, showing that I had a text message. My heart fluttered faster as I saw that it was from Bryan. I flipped my phone open.

_Hey,_ I read. _How are you?_

_Fine,_ I texted back. _Just got out of the hospital._

And just as I sent it, I realized that I shouldn't have said it. But it was too late now, and I almost jumped when I got another text less than a minute later.

_What? Why? Are you okay? _

_Yeah, I'm fine I just had a little accident that needed some special care, but I'm okay now. _There. That was vague enough, right?

_What do you mean accident?_ Bryan texted. I could almost hear his skeptic voice.

_I just… uh… well, I'll tell you on Monday when we go to school, okay? It's kinda hard to explain in a text._

_Fine._

Satisfied, I went to give everyone their cocoa. Everyone was curled up on the couches, Nora and Patch leaving me a space between them to sit. That's odd, I thought as I sat between them. Several days ago, it would've been Mom and Dad that I would've been sitting in between. But ever since Patch and Nora came into the picture, everything's changed. They seemed to be growing more distant while Patch and Nora grew closer to me. I know it hasn't been that long, but it felt as though this kind of thing had been going on for months instead of a week.

I sipped my cocoa slowly, savoring the flavor and the feeling of heat blossoming in my chest like a flower. Since I woke up, I felt like I was a cold marble statue, rigid and frozen without any heat at all, except when I'd fallen asleep with Nora. But now that I was at home in a pair of sweats and a tank top and sweater Mom had brought me when I was at the hospital, I felt much better.

Right now, there wasn't anything we were really doing. Every now and then someone would say something and another person would comment, but conversation never really sunk its roots anywhere. It wasn't until the doorbell rang that anything really happened.

I looked at Mom and Dad quizzically. "Are we expecting anyone?" I asked, wondering if I should change first.

Their expressions mirrored mine. "No…" Mom said uncertainly. She brushed her blonde hair out of her face and blinked owlishly.

"Well, then, I'll get it." I pushed myself up off the couch carefully, still aching after my attack. "Be right back." They nodded at me, watching me as I walked out of the living room and to the foyer where their eyes couldn't see me.

I opened the door, ignoring the peephole, and stared dumbfounded at the person who stood outside.

A woman, tall, blonde, and gorgeous, stood on my doorstep, with a sexy smile on her lips. She had a perfect figure, the kind that you only see in magazines, smooth and flawless tanned skin, and icy blue eyes that I felt held a lot of coldness to them, much more than they were showing. Right now, they looked like they had an agenda.

The woman was wearing normal clothes, a long-sleeved thermal white tee shirt and skinny jeans, making her obviously great figure stand out. In my mind, that kind of dulled it, showing it off so much.

Her full, pouty lips were pulled in a sexy smile, one that seemed to hold all the confidence and self-assurance of a person who got everything they wanted when they wanted it. I just hoped she didn't want something from me. Something told me that saying "no" to this person was something she could and would definitely make you regret.

"Hello," her voice, soft as silk, rang. "My name is Dabria Greene, and I was just wondering if you knew where I could find the farmhouse down on Hawthorne Lane. I'm not from here, as you can tell, and I sort of got lost." She gave a breathless laugh which sounded like twinkling bells from a wind chime.

"Uh, yeah, you just follow that street over by the house on the end of the neighborhood, and keep going until you come to the light. You make a right at the light, and a left on Hawthorne, and keep going until you get to the end where there aren't any houses. It may seem empty and deserted, but if you keep going, you'll see the giant farmhouse on your left. You can't miss it," I told her. Something about this woman put me on edge. She seemed nice and all, but there was just some kind of aura about her that made her seem… wounded. Wounded and looking for revenge.

"Thank you so much!" Dabria smiled a dazzling smile at me. I wasn't moved, but I did smile back politely, muttering a quiet "you're welcome" under my breath to her. She seemed to hear it. "By the way," she purred. "What's your name?"

I was _so_ reluctant then, and tempted to slam the door in her face. I wanted to, but it seemed as though my mouth, my voice, my vocal chords weren't in my control anymore. Against my will, I found myself telling her my name in a monotone voice, sounding like a robot.

"Naomi Coranda."

She smiled with a gloating satisfaction that made me want to spit on her high-heeled shoes. "Well, thanks for your help, Naomi Coranda. See you soon."

And with that, she turned on her heel, climbed into her car, and left. I shivered, an action that hardly had anything to do with the cold. I replayed her words, hearing the barely concealed, coated threat. _See you soon._

Somehow, I knew she wasn't lying.

I hurried inside, shutting the door quickly behind me. I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding.

"Naomi? Honey, are you there?" Mom's voice floated down from the living room to me.

"Yeah," I called back. I walked back into the living room, which was no longer as warm as it was before I'd talked to Dabria. I sat down in between Nora and Patch.

"So who was that?" Patch asked me.

And all of a sudden, I felt a _whoosh_ of warm air pass over me, sweeping everything from my mind for a split second. I felt all tingly, and I suddenly forgot what we were talking about. What had Patch said? Was he asking me something? He must've been, otherwise he wouldn't be looking at me like he was expecting an answer. Another _whoosh_ of air passed over me, and my mind went blank, leaving me momentarily dizzy.

"Naomi?" Patch's voice was urgent with worry. His hands were griping my upper arms gently, giving me a light shake. "What's the matter? Are you okay?"

I snapped into focus. "Sorry, what? Did you say something?"

Patch's eyes filled with barely concealed dread. "I asked who it was at the door."

This confused me. "You did? I mean, _I _did? There was someone at the door? Are they still there? Oh, Mom, you'd better get that." I looked over at my mom, a silly grin on my face. She stared back at me with horror in her eyes, mouth agape. I briefly wondered why.

"Nora, did you…?" Patch glanced away from me at Nora, who shook her head behind me.

"Scott?" Dad shook his head. His eyes were hard, making me wonder what was so bad to make him uncharacteristically serious.

Patch turned to me, leaning down so that his eyes were level with mine. "Naomi," he said, "what is the last thing you remember of the last ten minutes?"

I thought about it, though my mind felt sluggish. "Well," I drawled. "I remember coming home, and I remember making hot cocoa. I remember coming in here, and sittin' down, and talkin' and joking around, and then…" I trailed off, putting a finger to my lip. "Then things go fuzzy. I think the doorbell rang?" I said it as a question. Patch nodded encouragingly.

"And then… I think I got up and opened the door." Again, Patch nodded. I was starting to see some details, though I wasn't sure if I was making them up, or if they were real.

"Who was at the door?" Patch asked again, hardness in his voice I hadn't heard before. I swallowed discreetly before thinking again. I remembered opening the door… and then my mind hit a wall. It just went blank, and anything I was thinking about suddenly vanished, dissipating like mist. I felt dull, my mind struggling to think clearly.

Patch shook me again, this time a little harder. I blinked, and said, "My head feels fuzzy. I can't think straight. But I think the person at the door was… a woman."

"What was her name? Did she tell you? What did she look like?" Patch threw the questions at me, almost forgetting to pause so I could answer them.

"I don't remember her name. She must have told me. She had blonde hair… I think blue—no, green—oh! Wait, I think I remember her name."

The silence was think and tense while I thought long and hard, so hard that I gave myself a headache just trying to think about it. I remembered the woman's lips saying something… forming a name…

_Greene._

"Greene," I told them out loud. "Her last name was Greene. I think her first name started with a… D? It was a weird name, I have never heard of it before. That's all I remember." My voice at the end sounded strained and tired, which was exactly how I felt. I couldn't remember anything else, and it annoyed me. If what they said was true—and my memories—then I'd met that lady not five minutes ago.

So what happened?

I almost didn't notice Patch stiffen. He looked back at Nora behind me, most likely exchanging yet another tense, meaningful look.

I suddenly felt exhausted. I was truly tired of everything—meaning the attack aftereffects, the knowledge that the heart disease I'd been born with was not only not a disease at all, but also that it had the ability to kill me should it be stronger the next time I had an attack. It was just too much to take in one day.

"I'm tired," I whined, sagging forward unintentionally, my forehead coming to rest on Patch's muscular and broad shoulder. I felt his hands release my arms, and suddenly scoop me up into his arms. I wouldn't have fought it—not that I could have; I didn't seem to have the energy to even move my arms and legs, let alone walk myself to my room upstairs.

Patch cradled me to his chest as if I were a baby, a young infant again, and he carried me up the stairs to my room. He acted as though I only weighed ten pounds, instead of a hundred pounds. He strode through the halls with ease, not once faltering or stopping to boost me up into his arms so he could carry me better. I felt even sleepier in his arms, the movements of his steps rocking me back and forth. I could hear his heartbeat though his shirt where my head lay on his chest, the way it had when I'd fallen asleep in Nora's arms at the hospital.

Patch opened the door to my room with ease, coming to my bed and gently laying me down on it. He snatched up the blanket at the foot of my bed—one that I never use—and started to unfold it to lay it over me. Before I could stop him, something flittered out from between the folds of the blanket and a light blue object fell to the floor.

Confusion in his black eyes, Patch bent over and picked it up. He stared at the blue blanket in his hand, while I tried to control the blush that was creeping up my cheeks.

In his hand was my baby blue blankie, the one I'd grown out of when I was eleven. The truth was, I'd never really grown out of the thing. I mean, how could I? It was a part of me, a part of my childhood. It meant the world to me, and I always kept it hidden in that unused blanket at the foot of my bed for emergencies when I've had a particularly bad day at school with Felicia and Mary.

As my blush faded, I wondered why I'd even blushed in the first place. What reason did I have to blush? It was my baby blue blankie for crying out loud! Anyone who made fun of it would officially be introduced with my fist. But somehow, I knew Patch wouldn't make fun of me for having my baby blue blankie so close to me. I felt safer with it around me for some reason. It was a great way to get me to sleep.

I looked at Patch. He had conflicting emotions battling in his black eyes. I couldn't name them all, but I saw a few. Joy, anger, longing, and… adoration? No, that couldn't be it. It had to be something else. But I couldn't tell what it could be. His mouth opened slightly and he inhaled a little, but then he just exhaled again, and looked down at me.

He smiled a little smile, and covered me with my baby blue blankie. It was surprisingly warm, earning a soft yawn from me. Through narrowed eyes I saw Patch's mouth tilt up higher, and his eyes soften as they watched me. I curled up on my side, clutching my blankie under my chin in my hand.

Believe it or not, the blanket actually covered me—_all_ off me. We're talking about five feet and nine inches, people. Granted, I was tucking my feet up to my chest, but still; it could cover all of me. I let out a contented sigh.

Patch brushed my hair away from my forehead. "Goodnight, Naomi." I felt the brush of his lips as he placed a kiss softer than moth's wings touch my forehead. My eyes closed. I heard his footsteps getting fainter and fainter as he crossed the doorway of my room, closing the door behind him, and walked down the stairs to the living room.

My mind drifted into several directions before finally settling down. Who was the woman who knocked on the door? Why couldn't I remember her when I had just talked to her less than a half hour ago? And why did Patch act so… serious when he'd seen me in my blank state?

Whatever it was, I'd have to figure it out later. I could already feel sleep taking over me.

Just before I went under, I swear I heard something—something familiar. Laughter; the kind of laughter you hear from someone who's enjoying another person's suffering. But that wasn't what caught my attention for that split second before sleep caught me in its claws. It was how it sounded.

Like bells.

Like twinkling bells from a wind chime.

**A/N: So, what do you think? Again, I loved the feedback I got from you guys! I loved it so much that I gave you **_**10,440 **_**words for this chapter! This was more of a filter, I admit; I don't know how I got so many words in this. I had motivation. ;) *Wink, wink* But anyway, please review again! You guys got this story in the lead of all my other not-completed stories, so that's great! I didn't think it would be this one to get in the lead—especially for just five chapters! **

**I love you guys! Be kind to one another, see y'all soon, bye!**

**Ciao!**

**~Alee V.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Hey everyone! I'm back with another chapter! Thanks to everyone who reviewed on the last chapter, I really appreciated it. And again; awesome pennames. XD So, please take the time to review, I hope you like this chapter! Oh, and I'm thinking of changing my Penname, just because it doesn't make sense. I mean, I am a fan of Puckabrina pairing, but I haven't written anything for it. It's kinda… weird. I don't know what I'm going to change it to yet, but I just wanted to give you a head's up. I didn't do that with my other stories, I forgot, so feel good because I let you guys know first. XD Oh, and please you guys, to those of you who read this story and any of my other stories, please read the A/Ns. The ones on top and the ones on the bottom. I usually say things that are important, and on my other stories people never respond to the things I say in them, and they miss out. Again, I'm giving you guys first warning and stuff—so feel lucky. ;) **

**Anyways, read on!**

**Review?**

Waking up in the morning wasn't as hard as I thought it would be. I had expected to feel at least a little tired, but I didn't. I didn't even feel like I had slept. All night long, that twinkling laugh just resonated in my head, taunting me as though the owner knew something I didn't. It probably did, but I just couldn't figure out what.

It was driving me insane.

The good thing though, is that it stopped after I fell asleep. At around two o'clock in the morning. When I had gone into the bathroom for my morning shower, I had peered at myself in the mirror, looking for something, and I had found it. I had dark circles under my eyes. But, again, I still wasn't even tired. I felt… nothing. I was awake, but I didn't feel anything like I was supposed to. Not tired, not drowsy, not sore.

Nothing.

Right now I was just getting dressed—having taken my morning shower fifteen minutes before—and was thumping down the stairs within seconds. My mom was already there, making breakfast at the stove. That surprised me. In fact, it surprised me so much that I froze for a fraction of a second, but played it off as something sticky on the floor getting caught on the bottom of my sneaker.

She turned towards me when she heard the scuff of my shoe. Her lips stretched into a smile. "Good morning, baby," she greeted me in a chipper voice. Mom's eyes traveled down my body, taking in my black t-shirt, black skinny jeans, black sneakers, and white backpack. "You heading to a funeral or something? That's an awful lot of black."

I shrugged. "Nope; just heading to school."

Mom's expression changed then. It was suddenly a little tense, some of the previous relaxation gone. I was instantly suspicious.

"What is it? Why are you so serious all of a sudden?" I asked, bracing myself for the answer.

"No, it's nothing." She was silent for a few counts. Then she took a wooden spoon and started stirring something in a frying pan. Finally, she said, "Why don't you just… take today off? You must be exhausted from your attack and from yesterday. Go on up to your room and I'll take something up to you to eat, huh?"

"What? No way, Mom! I'm fine. I don't even feel tired, I swear," I insisted. I took her hand and pressed it to my forehead as though she were checking my temperature. She rolled her eyes, but relented nonetheless.

"Fine," she groaned, "but be careful. I don't want you overexerting yourself, and having another attack."

"Mom, I just passed out," I pointed out to her. If you looked at it from a certain angle, the only thing that had happened was that I passed out. I mean, that happens, right? But in reality, my heart had the potential to explode so suddenly that that was all I would do, is pass out. Or fail, or freeze, or just stop all together.

Gee; reality is a scary, scary place.

"I've had attacks before where I've passed out."

"Yes, but you've only had three," Mom pointed out. "And you've never passed out like that. Ten hours; you were passed out for ten hours. The first time you weren't even out for a half hour, according to the paramedics. The second time, you were out for an hour and a half. This time, it was ten hours. Such a large jump. I just don't want to lose you." Mom's voice softened to the point where I almost couldn't hear her over the sizzling sounds from the cooking food.

"You're so young; you haven't really had the chance to _live_ like you should. Just promise me you'll be careful. Promise me." And she looked into my eyes, begging me with those green eyes to do as she asked. I didn't have those eyes. Mine were grey, pale grey. Dad had blue eyes, but his were like the blue sky on a cloudless, sunny day.

I stuck out.

And both my parents were blonde. I had black hair, as black as the midnight sky without stars or moon. Just pure black. My skin was tanned, always tanned, but both of my parents' skin was pale, a down side to living in Coldwater. There were so many contrasts between me and the people who had spawned me, but I didn't mind it. When I was little, my mom used to tell me I got my looks from her side of the family. I didn't actually look into it to see if she was lying or not, but then again, as a kid you don't really question anything your parents tell you. We live in a generation where what they say goes, but I've seen how kids act towards their parents nowadays. If I had acted that way, I'd have been dead already.

My parents would never tolerate anything like that.

As a kid, you're supposed to believe whatever your parents tell you. If they say eating your vegetables will make you grow muscles, then you'll grow muscles according to them. If they say one day you'll be a doctor when you grow up, then you'll be a doctor. In a child's eyes, the titles "Mom" and "Dad" are safe. They are home, protection, love, and _truth._

Even when, half the time, _truth _has nothing to do with it.

I faded back into the present, realizing that Mom was still waiting for an answer and surprising myself. Where had all those thoughts come from?

"I promise, Mom. I'll be careful. Satisfied?" I raised my eyebrows at her.

"Not as much as I'd like to be," Mom scowled mockingly at me, swatting my butt with her wooden spoon. Instead of yelping or squealing, I laughed.

"Ewww, Mom! That's so unsanitary!"

I heard the sound of thumping boots then, just as I was heading toward the door. Dad came in before me, smiling at me and kissing my cheek.

I kissed his cheek back, and patted his shoulder. "Don't eat the eggs," I warned him breezily as I walked past him to the living room. I barely caught his confused expression.

"What?" I heard him say behind me.

"Unsanitary!" This comment was aimed at my mom, and she knew it. I knew she did because I heard her huff indignantly. I imagined her crossing her arms and pouting her lips. I smiled to myself.

I did feel like eating much this morning, so I snatched a couple of granola bars from Dad's lunchbox and grabbed my sweater from the closet in the foyer. I shouted a quick goodbye to my parents, and stepped out the door into the heavy fog.

I gave a frustrated groan as I climbed into my Volkswagen. I hated driving in the fog. It only made me apprehensive, even though I was already used it. I mean, come on; when you live in such a foggy, rainy place, you get used to driving in such weather. That didn't mean I had to like it, though.

I started up the car, and carefully peeled out the driveway, praying that I would make it to school in one piece.

I hummed to myself, not really enjoying the silence in the car, and went through my normal routine in my head. We were probably going through a new lesson in math class, inevitably getting homework, second period had earned a free period to talk and play around, third period was going to be busy—cough, test, cough—fourth period was pretty easy going, as we were doing a class discussion for English, and then we had lunch. Then sixth period was biology—and I'm still not getting the solid A+ I keep hoping and working for. But that's the least of my problems.

My hands tightened on the steering wheel as I thought about who I was going to be facing at school. Bryan was sure to be asking questions the minute he caught me alone. And he had several chances to do just that, what with sharing my second and sixth period with him, not to mention lunch, after and before school, and a phone call. I shook my head to clear it.

And that was when I noticed the child playing in the street, directly in front of my car, which was getting closer and closer, literally five feet away from hitting him when I slammed the brakes and screeched to a halt in front of him.

I stayed frozen in my seat for several agonizing seconds, staring at my hands on the steering wheel, my knuckles paper-white. Then I undid my seatbelt and climbed out of my car as fast as my trembling hands could manage, running to the front where the child had been before I almost ran him over.

But he wasn't there. The child I had seen picking up something from the road wasn't there. I looked around, but didn't notice anyone coming out of their house to see what had happened. Nobody seemed to be awake. It was as if nothing had happened, as if I had imagined it all.

I let out a quivering breath, running a hand through my hair as I looked around once again at the sleeping neighborhood. And just when I was going to climb back into my car and out of the freezing cold, another car pulled up behind mine. The driver came out of the car, and I heard the click of heels on the pavement as they neared me. Standing in front of me was a gorgeous woman who looked like a model, tall and blond with icy blue eyes.

And as I looked into those eyes, a strike of pain hit me in my temple, worthy enough of being called a migraine. I winced, not wanting to show any pain in front of this mysterious woman, though I put my fingers to my temple and rubbed slow circles into it.

The woman stopped in front of me, and this time another strike hit me, but with it came a flash of images of this woman standing and talking to me on my doorstep, then turning and leaving in a silver car much like the one she had just pulled up in.

The images were gone as soon as they came, and I hurried to compose myself as the woman started talking to me. _Dabria Greene,_ I remembered.

"Hello," Dabria spoke, her voice soft and alluring, her smile confident. "Are you having any car trouble?"

"No," I shook my head. "No car trouble. I just thought I saw something in the road, that's all." Oddly, I sounded offensive. I realized it was because I wasn't even sure if it had really happened or not. Had I just hallucinated seeing the boy, or had he really been there?

Dabria nodded knowingly. "Yes, that seems to happen often here."

"I thought you said you didn't live here. That you were new." I spoke without thinking. As soon as the words left my lips, I regretted them. I had blown my cover! I was supposed to not know her, as I hadn't seemed to know her after five minutes of knowing her yesterday.

Dabria froze, her expression caught between false confusion and irritation. Then she smoothed her features into one of falsely delighted surprise.

"Oh! It's you, Naomi Coranda! I thought you looked familiar! Oh, well let me have a look at your car, just in case." I started to protest, but she held up a hand to silence me. "Please, it'll only take a second! And I would really like to return the favor from yesterday." She gave me a winning smile that I didn't find at all moving in any way. But, against my better judgment, I stepped aside and gestured my hands to the car in an _after you_ motion.

She smiled and walked over to my car. She called out to me that I could just sit in the car while she worked on it to get out of the cold. It didn't seem to bother her, I noticed, even though she was in nothing but a thin peach colored turtle neck. Nonetheless, I complied, sensing that this woman never took no for an answer.

In the car, I reviewed what happened yesterday. I could suddenly remember what I had forgotten yesterday when I had gotten the door. Dabria had sent me a barely concealed threat that had been sugarcoated with sweetness and politeness. But I had seen right through it.

Looks like she stuck true to her word.

What if what had happened then happened again this time? If I told Mom or Dad, would they believe me? Would I even remember it to tell them? No. I needed proof. For me and for them. I could see her through a little rise in the hood and the window. I took my phone, turned on the camera, and aimed it at her. The image was clear enough that I could see her features pretty well enough. I silently thanked my phone's camera. I snapped a picture and saved it quickly. She had been facing me enough that I got her face, which appeared attentive as she looked over my car's insides. Just as I put my phone away in my backpack, she brought down the hood and came over to my window, gesturing for me to roll it down.

"You're all set," Dabria said cheerfully. "Nothing's wrong with the engine. Goodbye, Naomi. I'll see you soon." Again, there was a barely concealed threat. I felt like calling her out on it, but instead just smiled and thanked her. She gave me another winning smile and then left, driving away in her car.

And just like that, another wave of warm air passed over me, and it felt as though it swept through my mind. I couldn't remember the events of what had happened in the last ten minutes. I'd been on my way to school, I'd almost run over a boy in the street, the boy had disappeared… and then what?

I started to think it over, but then I glanced at the digital clock installed in the dashboard and my heart nearly stopped. It was nine fifteen, already a half an hour into first period. I threw the Volkswagen into drive and drove for all I was worth. Let's just say that staying under the speedlimit was harder for me than it had ever been.

When I finally arrived at school, there were only fifteen minutes of class left for first period. I ran through the halls, my backpack thumping against my back with each step. The door was closed, and the teacher was pointing at something on the board, his lips moving as he taught the lesson to the class. I knocked hesitantly on the door, looking apologetically through the window as he looked over at the door in surprise. When he saw it was me, he smiled wryly at me and came to open the door.

"Late, aren't we?" he said, blocking entrance to his classroom with his body. I nodded, looking down a little in embarrassment. "I hope you have a good excuse. Let's hear it."

I lifted my eyes and met his, my gaze defiant, showing that I wasn't afraid or intimidated by him. "I almost got into an accident this morning. Had some car trouble, a neighbor checked it out. Satisfied?"

My voice was quiet, only meant for him to hear. I could feel people leaning closer to the doorway to hear what I was saying. I was breathing a little harder than usual from the run into and through the halls. The teacher raised his eyebrows as I answered him. Obviously, I hadn't said what he'd expected. Silently, he moved out my way. I pushed past him, making my way to my seat, dodging Mary and Felicia's outstretched feet. Once again, I heard their frustrated huffs, and knew they were pouting at each other.

I could feel their stares boring into my back, burning holes into my head, but I kept my face emotionless, not caring about what they were thinking, whispering to each other, passing notes about. This was a situation that was never heard of, that was causing rumors to spread while I sat. Naomi Coranda, the Quiet Girl, the girl who had the fastest time records, who never missed a day of school in her entire life, had been late to her first period.

I met their staring gazes with my own. _Back off,_ it said. _Before you cause something you'll regret._

They looked away.

I slouched a little in my seat, suddenly feeling exhausted. I looked around; searching for a familiar face that I knew could cheer me up in a second. Sarah was sitting in her seat, her pencil moving as fast as she could move it to catch all of our teacher's words. Normally she wouldn't bother, knowing that I easily kept up with him, and would ask me for the notes she missed. I didn't mind, it wasn't like this was an all-the-time thing; she would make herself keep up if she felt like a bother to me. I assured her she wasn't, but she still did it anyway.

As if she felt my gaze on the back of her head, she turned and smiled at me, but I could see the question in her eyes. _What happened?_

The bell rang then, cutting the teacher off mid-sentence. He told us that we wouldn't have homework tonight because we hadn't finished the lesson, and ushered us out the door. Students from all classes merged into a giant sea of moving bodies, each one fighting against the tide to get their locker and their next class. In this case, Sarah and I were fighting to get to our next separate classes.

"So," Sarah said, barely keeping her voice from rising in octaves that would bring even the most resilient dog to its knees. "What happened?"

I shrugged. "I almost ran over a little boy this morning," I said in a low voice that I knew she could hear through the din. Her jaw dropped open. "But he disappeared before I could climb out of the car."

"You mean he ran off to his house?"

"No, I mean he literally disappeared." I gave her an unsettled look, showing her how I felt.

She swallowed hard. "Wow. That makes for a really interesting morning. Much more interesting than mine. I mean, I saw my brothers fight for the toy in the cereal box. I would've thought seeing two twelve-year-olds fighting over a toy car was weird as hell, but this"—she gestured at me—"is a whole other level. That's down right freaky."

"Yeah," I nodded my agreement, giving an involuntary shudder. I could just remember how my heart had nearly stopped pumping, and then started pumping double-time. The breath had blown out of me in that one instant, everything snapping into sharp perspective. I was scared in that one moment, but then it was even scarier when I found that there wasn't a boy in front of my car or anywhere near the area. I was scared that there was the possibility that I had imagined the whole thing; that I had hallucinated.

Sarah looked at me, those dark brown soulful eyes filled with concern. "How are you dealing, are you okay?" She put a hand on my shoulder, giving me a reassuring squeeze. I smiled weakly at her, but it fell almost as quickly as I did it.

"Honestly, Sarah, I don't know," I sighed. She was quiet for a few moments.

"Well, if you need anything at all, just know that I'm here, alright? I'm here, and I'll always be here." Sarah put her arms around me in a reassuring hug, which I eagerly reciprocated. I sighed into her hair, which was in my face.

When I had my first attack, I had been with Sarah. She was the one that called over the teacher. She was the one who tried to call nine-one-one when the teachers only insisted on taking me into the nurses' office. She had cried and begged to ride with me in the ambulance, and then snuck in when they weren't watching. She was the one who held my hand when everything went black in my vision. She was the one I saw beside me when I woke up and we were still on our way to the hospital. She was the one who always kept an eye on me afterwards, and still did. Sarah Leann Johnson was my very best friend, and because of her, I was alive. If she hadn't called the ambulance, I wouldn't be alive—or at least, normally going about my business, like running or driving and stuff.

"I know," I whispered. "Thank you. So, so, so much."

The bell rung, sending the sea of students into an all-out frenzy. Sarah and I released each other, sending encouraging smiles, and walking away to our separate classes.

P.E. is one of my easiest classes. For me it's an easy A, since I can run to get fast miles, play sports competitively, and I don't mind getting down and playing dirty if I need to. Like last week when I had played soccer and was on the opposite team from—

Bryan.

I still had yet to tell him about what happened on Sunday and the last few hours of Saturday after our date. I had no doubts that he would bug me about it as soon as he got me alone in second period.

And sure enough, the second I stepped out of the girls' locker room in my gym clothes after roll-call, a hand snagged my arm and pulled me to the side, away from everyone else exiting either locker room. I whirled around, fist clenched and ready to smash someone's face, but I unclenched it reluctantly when I saw Bryan's face, which appeared shocked at my sudden defensive action.

"Whoa, what were you going to do?" he asked in a bewildered tone. "Were you actually going to hit me?"

I shrugged indifferently. I was until I saw that it was him. But he didn't have to know that. "Maybe, maybe not. What's up?" I smiled at him.

"You owe me an explanation. What happened yesterday? You said you went to the hospital. For what?" His eyes showed concern, and I warmed up at the sight of it.

I sighed and looked down. I had never told anyone about my heart problem except for Sarah—and I guess now Nora and Patch. I had gotten used to the habit of never saying anything to people besides the ones I trusted. And although I did trust Bryan, it was only to an extent. I didn't know him that well. One date didn't qualify to tell him my entire life story or anything like it.

But he was right; I did owe him an explanation. And after that wonderful date on Saturday, he definitely deserved it. So, I took a breath, and opened my mouth to speak.

But I got cut off by Coach Valencia's whistle. Our heads snapped towards the sound, and we saw Coach and the rest of the class already in position to run the half mile. "Fray, Coranda! We haven't got all day! Get out of that corner and over here to your spots, so we can begin!" She shouted. And of course the entire class heard. I saw several heads turn to others and start whispering. Spreading rumors, of course.

Bryan and I shuffled over to the line. While Coach was fumbling with her timer, I turned to Bryan. "Fray?" I said curiously.

"My last name." Bryan said, with a nod. I smiled. I hadn't known his last name. I liked it. "Are you going to give me a chance to keep up with you?"

I smirked at him with an eyebrow raised. "I may like you, but running is still my territory, man. I don't slow down for anybody."

"On your marks, get set, go!" Coach's whistle tweeted, and I took off like a rocket, leaving a surprised-looking Bryan behind.

I felt a blush creeping up on my cheeks as I ran the two laps with ease. Oh my God. I couldn't believe what I had just confessed. I had just told Bryan that I _liked _him. How would I talk to him normally now without remembering that? Did I even want to forget the look on his face? Happiness, relief, and satisfaction had been on his face as I told him.

Did that mean he felt the same way? I wasn't sure, but I hoped so. I hoped he liked me, too. Because, if he didn't, then I just ruined something that could've been more.

I was so wrapped up in my thoughts that I hadn't noticed that I was running faster than I usually did. I finished my laps, breaking my record. Coach gave me a pat on my back and congratulated me, waiting for the others to come and finish their laps. I went over to the bleachers and sat down, relaxing while I waited for Bryan to finish.

When he finally did, he came over to me and sat down beside me. He breathed out a long sigh. I stayed still and silent beside him. Then, he turned and looked at me, taking my hand in his.

I was instantly alert, sitting up straighter and looking at our hands, then at him. Bryan's eyes were calm, those green eyes calming me, too.

"Running really is your territory." His voice was quiet. I smiled slightly.

"Yep. Always has been. Always will be." I turned my body to face him. This time he was quiet.

Then he said, "So… you really like me?"

My blush returned ten-fold. I bit my bottom lip. You can probably tell already by now that I'm not big on telling my feelings. I'm not big on words, period. But there comes a time in a person's life where they learn to just let go, to say what needs to be said. Is this the time?

No, sadly it isn't. But I told him what I felt anyway.

"Well, yeah. I mean, why do you think I agreed to go on that date with you?" I looked at his face while I spoke.

Bryan shrugged. "I thought maybe because you felt bad for me. Or that you were just forgiving me." He gave me a sad smile. His green eyes were sad, though I couldn't fathom why. All I knew was that I wanted to make him happy, to lighten those green eyes until they were so brilliant that I had to look away, even though I wouldn't be able to.

"No. I did it because I realized that I actually liked you. And I hadn't meant to, I mean, you're still the new kid and I've never really liked any of the guys that have asked me out. Sure I thought they looked good, and they were smart and funny, but I couldn't get myself to really _like_ them. Not that way. But then you come, and unexpectedly change that. And crash into me," I added, smiling wryly and squeezing his hand.

"Oh yeah; I remember." He smiled reminiscently at me, remembering how we had collided in the hallway in the middle of class transition, right in the middle of a giant sea of students.

"Then why do you look so sad?" I asked, frowning slightly.

"I'm not sad. I just never expected you to like me." Bryan was quiet for a few moments, and in those few moments I realized one thing: he hadn't said he like me back. My heart sunk.

"Well, a lot of things in life are unexpected," I informed him glumly. He looked up then, at my tone, and opened his mouth to say something, but Coach's whistle cut him off. I sighed, then let go of his hand reluctantly.

"All right, people," Coach said as we gathered around her. "We're going to play soft-ball, black team, and yellow team." A playful chatter rose from the crowd at the team colors. "Yes, I realize that those to colors are the name of a song; I like that song. But anyway," she boomed, "go gear up! Jerseys are in the lockers in the locker rooms. Everything else—you know where to find them." With another toot on her whistle, she ushered us into lines so she could make up our teams. She already knew how any team captain would choose, so she decided to choose for us whenever we had team games.

So, she chose a lot of the time.

I didn't really pay attention while she chose the teams, even though I should've. I just couldn't get my mind off of mine and Bryan's conversation. What had he been about to say? And why had I been so honest in the first place?

Coach's voice calling out my name brought me out of my thoughts. "Naomi Coranda, Yellow Team!" She jerked her thumb to her right where several students were walking toward the locker rooms. I followed suit, reaching my locker and shrugging on the yellow and black striped jersey over my tank top. It felt too loose for my comfort, so I tied it in the back to make it tighter around my hips.

I came back to the crowd where my team was already gathered. I noticed Bryan wasn't among them, and I turned just in time to catch him emerging the boys' locker room with a black and yellow striped jersey. He caught my gaze and shot me a quick encouraging smile. I sent a small smile back, unable to resist doing so. It didn't matter if he did or didn't like me back. As long as he was in my life, I was okay with it.

"All right, Yellows," Coach boomed in her loud voice. "I want you guys on outfield. Naomi"—she pointed at me and I looked up in surprise—"I want you pitching. Now go, go get into your positions!"

We all scrambled to the field, and I took my place, hitting my hand into the glove Coach had tossed me before she'd told us to get into position. Even from here, I could hear the students chattering, not even bothering to lower their voices. They were even calling it out across the field.

"Oooh, Black Team better watch out."

"Yeah, we got Naomi as pitcher."

"Even if she weren't pitcher, she would catch or hit every ball they throw."

"You would think she's a pro."

"Watch out, Black Team! Naomi's ours!"

I rolled my eyes. While they weren't exactly stretching out the truth, they were exaggerating my skills. I just got a little over competitive sometimes. Every team I'm on wins. But I always give it my all.

I almost laughed out loud when Bryan stepped up to the diamond, practice swinging the aluminum bat. What irony! I did let out a little chuckle of disbelief, though.

He mouthed something to me that made irritation rise inside of me. I huffed out an irritated breath and squeezed the softball in my hand.

_Give it your best shot._

He pointed at me and flashed a cocky grin that made me want to slap it off his face. He brought his hand back onto the bat, swinging it tauntingly. I swallowed back my frustration.

Then I smirked, nodding my head at him once. _Challenge accepted, _I thought. Then I pointed at him with the hand that had the ball. I mouthed something back to him.

_Try and hit it._

I recoiled my body, lifting my leg and then throwing the softball. It flew out of my hand, whizzing towards the diamond and Bryan. It reached the catcher's glove, sending the poor guy back on the ground.

"Strike one!" the girl playing the umpire said.

I smirked again; hand on my hip, gloved hand resting by my side. My hair blew softly in the wind, and I imagined I looked sort of intimidating. Bryan had a bewildered look on his face, like he hadn't even seen the ball leave my hand. I had surprised him, effectively wiping the smirk off his face. And victory tasted so sweet.

The catcher, after regaining his balance, threw the ball back to me. My hand flashed up to catch it, my glove catching the ball effortlessly. I grabbed the ball, tossing it back and forth between the glove and my hand, keeping my eyes locked on Bryan's. A gray stormy ocean, clashing with an evergreen forest. The side of my mouth drew up slightly; not quite a smile, but not quite a smirk either.

I mouthed to him again. _Fastball. _I pointed the ball to him again, coiled up, and threw the ball again. It left almost quicker than the last one, reaching the catcher's glove before I could blink. This time Bryan had swung, though far too late to hit the ball. I raised my eyebrows and shrugged. _Curveball_, I mouthed.

I decided to go a little easier on him for the third pitch. I pointed to him with the ball, coiled up, and threw him a normal pitch. He hit it, and started jogging. The ball went straight up in the air… and landed in my outstretched glove before he got to first base. I had just stood there, one arm under my gloved hand, and watched the ball fly into the air, already knowing the outcome. My glove had already been sticking out, but as it fell, I stretched it out a little further, and caught the ball.

Bryan's jaw fell open, and he walked toward the dugout like that, disbelief plain on his face as all the other guys in the dugout clapped him on the back, telling them how this was a usual thing, that he shouldn't feel bad. He looked back at me. I looked at him steadily. Then I smiled a little and waved my fingers at him pointedly. My point had definitely come across.

This had better be the last time he acts cocky when it comes to me. Now, he ought to know better.

The rest of the game went pretty much the same. When teams switched, we were in the infield for quite a while, earning point after point after point. I hit the ball every time, not so much as getting a foul ball. When I ran, I made triples, doubles, and the occasional homerun. I'm good, but not that good. So while the pitcher for Black Team tried throwing me curveballs and fastballs like I had, I was hitting them because the guy couldn't quite get it right.

Needless to say Yellow Team won.

"Woo! Good job, Teams," the umpire girl crowed. She was slapping high-fives to anyone who would take them. When she got to me, she seemed a little unsure, but I smiled and high-fived her, making her smile hugely.

"Naomi!" I turned around toward the voice who called my name. Bryan was jogging towards me, shrugging the jersey over his head. His t-shirt rode up a little, flashing a bit of abs hard enough to send my pulse all over the charts. I tore my eyes away as he fixed his shirt. I smiled when he reached me, and he smiled back. "Boy, can you play! How did you learn to play like that?"

I shrugged. "I used to play with my dad all the time when I was younger. Baseball has always been my best sport. I'm not that good at the others, like basketball, football, tennis. I like volleyball, and hockey. I'm kinda good at those." I walked beside him as we slowly made our way to the gym. I hesitated, but then just shoved my embarrassment aside and did it. I lifted the jersey up and over my head, taking it off. I felt my tank top slide up a little, over my navel, and as I fixed it hurriedly, I caught Bryan looking at me from the corner of his eye. I bit back a smile. It would've been a little more enjoyable had the other guys in the class not watched. I heard the low wolf whistles and cursed each one of those perverts.

"So, you never did explain what happened on Sunday. Why were you at the hospital?"

I swallowed. I had almost forgotten I was supposed to tell him. Almost.

I took a breath, grabbing my backpack from the bleachers and flagging down the umpire girl, asking her to take my jersey into the locker room. She looked shocked that I was even talking, but took it back anyway.

"Bryan," I said as we sat down on the bleachers next to each other for the next ten minutes of class. "What I'm about to tell you is something I've never told anyone out of my family except my bestfriend Sarah. The only reason I'm telling you is because… I trust you." I looked up at him, surprised to see that his eyes were guarded. He didn't want me to see what he was thinking—what he was feeling. As soon as I said the words, I realized that it was true. I did trust him with this. In the short few weeks that I had known him, he'd turned the rules of the way I'd lived the last sixteen years of my life upside down. He'd gotten me talking more than anyone had in my whole life besides my family and Sarah. I'd gone on a date with him and he'd made me laugh, smile, and dance, and just made me feel free.

He was like a breath of fresh air. More than a breath, actually. Like a whole spring season of fresh air.

I took another deep breath, eyes closed, face turned up to the sky. I looked down at my hands, carefully choosing my words in my head. Then I began.

"When I was a born, I was born very healthy. There was absolutely nothing wrong with me that the doctors could find; everything was perfect. I lived the next eight years of my life as a very active, smart, normal child. But then something happened. I was in the third grade, hanging out with Sarah near the classroom, not doing anything when I started feeling funny. I had this horrible pain in my chest, and I was seeing things, like little stars and different colors swirling in my vision, and I couldn't breathe. Sarah went and called the teachers, and when they didn't do anything, she called the ambulance. They took me to the hospital, and along the way I'd passed out and then woken up. I was unconscious for a little while, waking up before we even made it to the hospital. At the hospital, they didn't find anything. They thought it was just an asthma attack.

"But they were wrong. I've never had asthma, nothing even close. My family doctor, Dr. Conner, saw something weird about how this attack happened. No outward tests showed any sign of the attack—not even my lungs, which had given me trouble breathing. He started to look a little deeper, trying to figure out the problem. He sent me home, though, and I had to miss a week of school to make absolutely sure that I was stable enough to go to school. I was fine when I did. It was as if it had never happened.

"Then it happened again when I turned twelve. I had been running the mile in the seventh grade. Like the first time, I had an awful pain in my chest right after I finished my mile. I collapsed right there, chest heaving and everything. I couldn't breathe, and they called the ambulance again. I woke up about fifteen minutes into the process of getting to the hospital. The hospital dismissed it again as an asthma attack, and I went home with an inhaler. I never used it. I knew that what was happening to me wasn't an asthma attack. Since then I haven't had another attack.

"Until yesterday, that is. The month before you got here, in July, Dr. Conner had run some tests on me, made me take some tests that would determine whether my disease—as they called it—was life-threatening, or would be life-threatening in the future. We were expected to wait a month for those results. We got them yesterday. And it turns out that it is indeed life-threatening. It turns out my heart is attacking itself from the inside. My heart is acting like a cancer cell, in a way. I don't know if another attack will kill me, or if it'll go as well as the two times before, or the as bad as this time, but I am not going to risk it.

"The most recent happened after you dropped me off at home after our date. I had gone out to get the mail and I found the test results. I read them and the shock was too much for me to handle. I passed out and woke up in the hospital after that. I had been unconscious for ten hours. This was by far the worst one. And I'm not going to try to find out if there can be worse.

"So now you know." I looked over at Bryan tentatively. I wasn't afraid of judgment, but I was afraid of his reaction. "That's why I was in the hospital yesterday. Even Sarah doesn't know yet, but I'll tell her later. So… what do you think?"

I was dying to know his answer, but I didn't get to because right when he opened his mouth, the dismissal bell rang. We had to go to our next classes. I rolled my eyes. I hefted my backpack out from under the bleachers and onto my shoulder, climbing down carefully. I started to walk to my next classes, feeling a sense of foreboding settle in the pit of my stomach. I couldn't begin to fathom what it was about and where it came from, but it was there. Hovering over my shoulders, slowing my breathing, and making my hands tingle slightly in anticipation.

I pushed it down, smiling back at Bryan and walking out the gym to my next class. Of course, the second I entered the class room, I realized two things from the stares people were giving me; A) that the rumors had gotten around faster than I thought, and B) that I had forgotten to change out of my gym clothes. I was so preoccupied with my conversation with Bryan that I hadn't remembered to change into my school clothes. So I had walked through the halls in boys' basketball shorts, a tank top, and my sneakers, all black.

Well, that explained the stares.

Refusing to let their stares get to me, I strode in the room confidently, sitting down in my seat and taking out my supplies. I heard whispers and giggles, heard my name floating around the room, but I didn't care. I was here to learn—not to care about what anyone thought of me. They didn't know me, would never know me, and besides, who cares what people think? God knows they hardly do it at all. Harsh, I know, but it's the truth with these people.

For the rest of class, I really hammed it up, acting like I wasn't dressed in my gym clothes, lounging lazily in my seat at the back of the room, waving my fingers pointedly to those who turned in their seats to stare at me. That class went by real quick, as did the others until we went to lunch. That's when I changed back into my regular black clothes—a little reluctantly, I admit.

Sarah and I went to our usual table in the lunch room, near the back but a row from it. We ate in silence until Sarah asked me to fill her in about my weekend, why I hadn't called or texted her like I usually did. So I filled her in, telling her all about mine and Bryan's date, the news on my heart problem, and what had happened during second period.

"Oh, honey," Sarah said in a sympathetic voice. No pity. No pity from her. She knew I hated pity and only sympathized with me when a situation called for it. She rubbed small circles into my back, while I slammed my forehead into the hard table. Ouch.

"I don't know what to tell you," said Sarah, her voice part nervous, part panicky. "I mean, you've never liked a guy before that you felt worthwhile! I mean, there was that one guy…" She trailed off as she felt my shoulders stiffen rigidly.

_That one guy. _'That one guy' was gone. We didn't talk about 'that one guy.' He was in the past, away from me—and that was for the best. He was the only other guy I'd ever really liked, besides Bryan now. I met him when I was thirteen, when our school had gotten him as the transfer student. He had "bad boy" written all over him, but I hadn't been able to stay away for too long. I had always come back to him at the end of the day, whether I wanted to or not. I had liked him, he had like me, and it had all been like some kind of fairytale romance. Until he got caught.

I caught him kissing Sarah against her will, behind the bleachers in the gym. I had been angry, angry and hurt, but I never blamed Sarah. I knew that she was afraid of him, that she didn't like him at all, that she didn't agree with me dating him. She would never have done something so low, regardless of whether she liked the boy in question or not. But 'that one guy' didn't have any qualms with cheating on his girlfriends. His cocky smirk had said it all.

I'd never hit anyone harder in my life.

He left school that day with a swollen, purple-ish eye and a severely wounded pride. Sarah and I had had a sleepover that night at her house, making the promise that we would always protect each other from anything as much as we could. We would look out for each other, tell each other everything. Those were the kind of promises you make with your bestfriend. The difference is, we keep—and know fully well that we have the power to keep—those promises.

His parents had transferred him back to his other school the week after they'd found out. Of course, I was heartbroken. Even to this day, I think I might still feel a little something for him; not the electric, wildness I felt for him when we'd been together—not even close. He had felt the same way about me, I knew he did, but apparently it must have faded with time—five months' worth of time, as had been together for five months. My first _real_ boyfriend cheated on me with my bestfriend. Again, I don't blame Sarah for any of it. She had no hand in what had happened. Don't ask me how I know, I just do. Call it a hunch.

Good thing was, he was never coming back.

I guess I had reservations to any of the other boys I've dated, and that's why I didn't like them, but Bryan was different. He made _me _feel different. Of course, I'm still wary of him like I am with most boys, but I'd be willing to let it go for him if he liked me back, too.

"That's a real nice way of putting it, Omi," Sarah said beside me. I lifted my head off the table and looked over at her, frowning. What was she talking about?

"You do realize you said that out loud, right?" She raised her eyebrows at me, probably wondering what my problem was.

"Oh," I said. "I didn't even notice. I was just thinking."

"Well, then that's a real nice way of thinking it." She grinned at me, that goofy grin of hers, making me laugh. I hugged her with one arm.

"Thanks, Sarah Lee," I bumped her shoulder, rubbing in her nickname. Sarah Leann Johnson. My bestfriend.

"I wish I could offer you advice, but I honestly can't," she said, clearly distressed about the fact. "I mean, you've never been in this situation. You've never wanted what didn't want you back. Actually, you've never really _wanted_. But he's technically your territory, though. You guys went out. That makes you two a thing." She crossed two of her fingers to emphasize her point. My stomach dropped a little in nervousness.

"So, like… he's technically my boyfriend, and I'm his girlfriend?" I asked tentatively. I was almost afraid of her answer.

Sarah nodded. "Yeah. But now worries. You'll be fine this time, I know it. Just trust yourself, don't be afraid. I think this guy might be something else."

"What do you mean?" I tilted my head in confusion.

"Did you know that this is the most talkative you've ever been in during school hours, on school campus, since I've met you? And it all started the day you met him. When you drove me home, you were smiling and talking with this dazed look in your eyes. I knew it had to be something serious. Like I said, this Bryan is something else."

I frowned, slowly straightening in my seat. I hadn't even noticed how different I was acting. It was so unlike me; I was talking more, laughing more, and just walking out of my quiet, safe box. It scared me; much more than I was ready to admit.

"Hey, don't panic now, but Bryan is coming into the cafeteria. He's looking around, searching for someone. I bet five dollars he's looking for you." Sarah didn't even look away from her lunch tray as she said it. She looked down at it, picking at the limp school food with her fork, as if she hadn't spoken. I kept my cool, casually resting my chin on my fist to survey the busy buss of students for Bryan. I kept my expression bored, as if I was looking around out of boredom. I spotted him almost immediately—it was hard not to. He was standing with a lunch tray in his hands, looking around for someone as Sarah had said. As soon as my eyes landed on him, his swung back in my direction. I laid my head back down on the table, but I knew I was too late. I felt his gaze on me like a sudden prodding finger, poking me and calling my attention. I sighed and looked up just in time to see him start over toward our table.

Jaws dropped, eyes bulged, and incredulous, shocked gasps filled the room. The silence dragged on as he made his way over to Sara and me, ignoring the beckoning hands of the popular crowds and other girls vying for his attention. He didn't even spare them a glance. He kept his eyes trained on mine like no other person did or could do. I'll admit it was a bit unnerving that he was causing so much attention by just coming toward us, but I wasn't exactly thinking straight with Bryan's eyes locked on mine.

Stormy grey and Evergreen.

Sarah, who had looked up when the cafeteria had gone quiet, nudged me subtly. "Breathe, Omi," she muttered through unmoving lips under her breath. I hadn't realized that I had stopped breathing during the staring contest and took a subtle deep breath.

Bryan finally reached the table, smiling a smile at me that was both sweet and devilish at the same time. I didn't know how he managed it. He knew he had the attention of pretty much the entire student body. In fact, the fool was enjoying it. He was going to play it up as much as he could—I knew that before he did it. But what I didn't know was just how he was going to achieve that.

But achieve it he did—and so much more.

"Hey, beautiful," he said as he smiled. And then he leaned over the table toward me and put his hand to my cheek. He leaned in closer and _kissed me on the cheek. _

_In front of the entire student body._

I was completely speechless. Sarah beside me was just the same. Bryan looked at me with those green eyes, the innocence in his expression a bit overdone. He looked proud of himself. I cast my eyes around the lunch room quickly.

Now all jaws had dropped, and all eyes were seconds from falling out of their skulls. I was just as shocked as they were, but at least I was handling it well. That gave me a little irritation, but it was wiped away by the euphoria of Bryan's kiss. I was resisting putting my hand to my cheek, to the tingling spot on my face that Bryan had touched with his soft lips. I could feel a light blush creeping on my cheeks as I looked at Bryan through my eyelashes.

The silence was thick; too thick. It was suffocating. So I did the boldest thing that a few weeks ago I could never have counted on myself to follow through.

I stood up and leaned on my hand on the table, my other hand on my hip. I looked at the people in the cafeteria, meeting gaze after gaze after shocked gaze. "How's your Monday?" I asked loud enough that everyone could hear me loud and clear—loud enough that they could hear the abruptness and pointed warning in my tone.

The cafeteria was silent for a few beats. Again, they were shocked. I was talking to them, a complete rarity. Then, the silence was broken. "Pretty good, how about yours?" a jock from one the tables to my right called out to me. His words were slightly mocking, but they were still amazed.

"Glad to hear it," I said quieter than before, ignoring his question entirely and smirking. My voice wasn't as loud, but everyone could still hear it. I sat back down, smiling at Sarah and Bryan. The noise resumed in the cafeteria, though I was sure I heard my name in more than one occasion.

When we finished our lunch, Bryan insisted we do something to end the show with a grand finale. I didn't agree with it; what could top a public kiss? Granted, it was a cheek kiss, but still. He wanted us to walk out holding hands. I didn't have a problem with it, but I wasn't sure I wanted to cause such uproar by doing things that I would never do. Naomi Jarene Coranda didn't talk. Naomi Jarene Coranda didn't attract attention. Naomi Jarene Coranda lived a quiet, peaceful life.

I was completely acting like someone else. Who was this? Who was I now? Did I even want to know?

I ended up doing it anyway, not feeling like arguing. The earlier sense of foreboding had returned tenfold, as if something bad were going to happen and soon. Nonetheless, Bryan and I walked out of the cafeteria with our hands entwined, fingers laced together. And I know I sound like such a girl when I say this, but I couldn't help noticing how perfectly our fingers fit together, how right it felt to hold his hand.

The rest of the day went smoothly, our classes flying by quickly. Bryan and I met up with Sarah at her classroom, having already gotten our stuff out of our lockers along the way. We all walked toward the main doors, but they were crowded, so I decided to take them on a detour through the office doors. As we waked closer, I felt my heartbeat quicken, and my hands started to slicken with sweat the way they did when I was nervous or panicked. I wiped them on my jeans discreetly, but I could tell out the corner of my eye that Sarah noticed. She stepped a little closer to me, recognizing the signs of my panic. I took deep breaths as we walked closer and closer to the office, my instincts screaming for me to get away.

But by the time I walked into the office and found out why, I was too late. The breath was knocked out of me the second I saw him. My feet were frozen to the floor, and I couldn't move for the life of me. Sarah saw him too, freezing beside me with wide eyes. I couldn't move; couldn't breathe. I was in another time and place, reliving the months that I had considered the most freeing months of my life. How wrong I had turned out to be.

He was as tall as ever, still living up to his reputational image. He had his back to me, though I would know this boy anywhere. He still had the same worn black leather jacket from three years ago; I was surprised it still fit him. He still had the same shaggy black hair that I had run my fingers through so many times before, the same light blue eyes I had gazed into lovingly for five months, and the same tanned skin I had touched and run my hands over. For a split second I wondered dazedly where he had lived for the past three years.

"So you're going to stay here until your senior year, right? No sudden moved or transfers anymore, right?" the secretary laughed as she questioned him. I faintly heard it, but her words made my heart nearly stop. He was transferring back. He was here to stay. I could faintly feel Bryan standing behind Sarah and me, confused as to why we'd stopped.

My eyes were wide open in horror, my body rigid and frozen in shock. I was pretty sure that I was breathing, hadn't breathed since I had entered the room. But I couldn't do anything. Not a thing.

And suddenly as if he sensed us behind him, he turned and looked at us in surprise. Then his mouth curled into a shockingly sincere, pleased smile, his eyes surprisingly soft as he gazed at me. My heart tugged. He looked much the same, though more mature, and he had a piercing above his left eyebrow.

"Naomi." His voice was deeper, puberty having had its time with him early, but that wasn't what made my heart fumble several beats: He spoke my name like a caress, with a certain subtle tenderness that wasn't lost on me. I guessed it wasn't lost on Sarah or Bryan by the way they both stiffened and tensed.

"Keith," I breathed, sucking much-needed air into my aching lungs. Each breath felt like splinters into my heart. And for no reason at all, I found myself saying his name again.

"Keith."

_~A Month Later~_

The rain beat on the windows of my Volkswagen as I drove carefully away from Sarah's house. I had just dropped her off at her house after school. I was antsy in my seat as I turned the windshield wipers on high. I hated driving in this weather. My boyfriend Bryan had offered to come along with me, claiming he didn't mind having to walk back to the school, but I just couldn't make him do that. It just wasn't me.

Even though I didn't like driving in this weather alone, I wasn't going to make my boyfriend walk all the way back to the school just to keep me company.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I waited until I stopped at a red light to fish it out of my pocket. I took one look at the name on my phone's screen, and tossed it into the passenger seat as I felt an invisible splinter drive into my heart. I had to wait a moment for my breath to return to my lungs, for it had been knocked out the second I had read the name on the screen. I didn't know how _he_ had gotten my number, but I sure as hell didn't give it to him.

Another text message from Keith. Probably another useless attempt to get me to have a conversation with him. I wondered if he knew it useless; for if he did, why did he continue to try?

The light turned green, and I drove forward, humming tunelessly to myself in the quiet car. I felt like going into the woods; I hadn't gone in such a long time. I sort of missed it, the smell of wet pine, fresh, wet earth, and of course the natural sounds. I just missed the nature in general. I wanted to walk around and explore again. And I might even visit Blythe again. The thought made the corners of my mouth tip up into a smile.

I rolled up into the driveway, relieved that I had made it home in one piece. I sat in the car for a moment, debating whether I wanted to go into the house or stay in the car. My small and full bladder made the decision for me, urging me to pull the hood of my rain coat over my black curls. I grabbed my back pack and took a breath, my free hand on the door handle.

I opened the door and flew out and to the porch like a bat out of hell. I shook myself to shake loose the raindrops before opening the door and stepping inside. I wiped my black boots on the mat in front of the door, shrugging out of my rain coat and hanging it up on the coat rack. Just as I dropped my backpack on the floor, I heard my mother's voice shouting and yelling out of nowhere, making me jump slightly.

What could she be so mad about? Didn't she know it was harmful to the baby if she was this angry? Who was she even yelling at? I knew it couldn't be Dad; they'd grown closer, close to the point of inseparability when in the same room with each other. She wouldn't be yelling at him. In fact, I had a pretty good idea who she was yelling at.

"You two have had more than enough time! Stop drawing out the inevitable! Every day, she grows more and more inseparable to you, more and more trusting of you and you are ruining any chance you might have at still having her love you! She does love you, but you're going to lose that if you don't tell her. The minute she walks through that door—"

I had walked out of the foyer and to the entrance of the living room, leaning against it with my arms crossed. "'She' meaning me." My voice was quiet, but it sliced through the air, cut off her voice, and caused heads to turn, like a knife. My position had an assuming air about it, lazy, but my posture said something else entirely. I was tense, alert, waiting for something to happen so that I could snap into action. What that mean, I wasn't at all sure. I was sure I looked intimidating; a dark shadow, calm and dangerous.

Patch, Nora, Mom, and Dad were all standing in a misshapen circle around the coffee table, the Ciprianos on one side, the Corandas on the other. Mom's face was red, evidence of her anger and of her shouting. I looked at them, warning and demand in my eyes. Warning them to not piss me off; demanding that they tell me the truth. They had been having fights and arguments like this all month long. It wasn't surprising that they were having one now. Every single time I caught them, they gave me an excuse instead of telling me the real reason why they were arguing. I was fed up with it.

"What. Are. You. Arguing. About." I made every word a sentence, speaking through gritted teeth.

"Naomi," Mom started. Her breathing was heavy from her shouting. She wasn't mad; she was _furious._ So furious that she had to begin again.

"Naomi, Nora and Patch are here to tell you something. They have something very important, very _overdue_ to tell you. And they aren't getting out of it this time."

**A/N: Uh-oh. What's gonna happen? Tell me what you guys think in a review! What do you think about Keith? How about Naomi's and Bryan's conversation? Do you think Bryan likes her back, or is he just going out with her cause he's a player? Hmmm, you never know! ;) Please review! Here's 11, 060 words for you guys. Your reviews make me write faster!**

**REMINDER: **_**AT LEAST TWO REVIEWS PER CHAPTER FOR AN UPDATE. I DON'T UPDATE UNTIL I GET TWO REVIEWS ON THE STORY. DOESN'T MATTER WHAT CHAPTER.**_

**That said, I'm out.**

**Ciao!**

**~Alee V.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Hey, y'all! What's up? I know it's been a while, but I am here with a new chapter for you! The chapter you have all been waiting for. Dun-dun-dun:**

**The Truth.**

**So, very short and sweet, thank you to the people who read and reviewed the last chapter! You guys are awesome, I can't thank you enough!**

**And, I don't own **_**Hush, Hush.**_** That honor falls to Becca Fitzpatrick. **

**Read on!**

**REVIEW?**

My pulse quickened, and my eyes widened a fraction. Other than that, I kept my face expressionless, in check. My eyes slid from my mother, who stood with her hands on her hips, breathing heavily, to Nora and Patch.

Nora looked nervous, on the brink of hysterics, and I was suddenly reminded of another time that she had looked the same way. I had a flash of an image, the same on I had gotten the last time.

"_I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," she moaned._

I shook my head slightly to clear it of those images. I was suddenly scared. I had always wanted to know the truth, what they were talking about, this mysterious secret they kept hidden from me. I always had.

But now that I had the chance for them to actually tell me, to actually learn this hidden truth, I was scared to approach. I wasn't sure I wanted it anymore. I mean, while waiting for them to loosen up, I had grown closer to Nora and Patch. They were like… second parents. Favorite godparents, if you will. I realized something then. My mother was right.

I did love them.

And I wasn't sure if that was a good thing, or a bad thing.

"Well," I said, clearing my throat. "I want to do something first. I was going to go out in the woods for a while, not too long. Just a little walk. Okay?"

Mom got all huffy again. "No, they have to tell you now, before they worm out of it—," I cut her off.

"Whoa, Mom, what has gotten into you?" I came over to her and grabbed her face in my hands, making her look at me. "You need to calm down," I told her seriously. "All this anger isn't good for the baby. I'm going to take that walk, and you are going to stay here and cool off. I'm not coming back until I know for sure that you are going to be calm and level-headed about this. What has gotten into you, Mom?" I repeated. "These are your _friends._ You're treating them like Public Enemy One and Two."

I was worried about her. She has never acted this way, not around me. I've never seen her so off her rocker before, and it worried me. These were her friends she was yelling at. She was yelling at them over me, and I felt horrible. I didn't know what to do in situations like this, because they've never happened before. I had never met any of Mom and Dad's friends. They've never had anyone besides 'family' over. And that's just a few uncles and aunts.

Mom stared at me hard, but she relented, collapsing on the couch. I breathed out in relief. Then I looked over at Nora and Patch, gazing at them steadily. Patch looked like he was trying to conceal his emotions. He was doing a mostly good job with expressions, though his jaw was clenched pretty tightly, as if bracing himself for a blow. His eyes, though; now those were conflicted. Nora looked ready to have a breakdown. So I quickly went out to the foyer and walked out the door, muttering an "I'll be back soon," under my breath.

I crossed the street carelessly, already knowing that there wouldn't be any cars to run me over. This side of town was quietest, not as populated. We had neighbors, but they kept to themselves, much like my parents and me. I walked into the forest, not looking behind me to see if anyone had followed me. I knew no one had.

The sound of leaves crunching beneath my feet made me happy, calm; relaxed. I could smell the earth around me, nature, the smell of trees and tree sap, the smell of damp earth, and wet grass. The smells that I loved. As I walked further into the forest, they cleared my head, allowing me to think much more clearly.

So here was my window of opportunity. Metaphorically speaking, of course, it was wide open, and I could see that my opportunity was waiting out there. All I had to do was open the window a little more and climb out. Touch my opportunity and have it, own it.

But now that the window was open, I could feel the storm that was beginning to stir. My opportunity was out that window, alright, but it came with a price. That window was open, and I had the chance to hear what needed to be said. But I found myself wanting to close that window. The price I'd pay for my opportunity was high, I knew, but was it worth it, too? Was it worth it to completely change my relationship with my own parents for my parents' friends? I knew that this was the price.

But was it too high for me to pay to hear the truth?

I groaned in frustration, running my hand through my hair. Geez, I had no idea that it was going to be this way. My window was open, and all I seemed to want to do was close it again. Turn my back on it and walk away, crisis averted. But… what if I needed a little bit of a crisis? I mean, my day-to-day life is just _wake up in the morning; eat; go to school; beat everyone in P.E.; hang out with Sarah; go back home; eat; homework; and go to sleep._

This was all on a good week, and I usually incorporate a lot of drawing in between all of that. Maybe I really needed a change. I wanted to know the truth, anyway. So, I was going to open up that window, and I was going to hear the truth that they have kept from me for so long.

It was time for them to give up their lies.

I reached the half-way-mark stump much faster than I had anticipated. I must've been walking a lot faster than I thought I had while I was thinking. I sat down briefly on the stump, considering my options.

I could go back now, and hear what they had to say. Or I could waste a little more time exploring to mentally prepare myself.

Hmmm, decisions, decisions.

I chose the latter.

I stood up from the stump, patting it affectionately as if it were a dog. Then I briskly returned to my walking, touching trees and leaves on branches as I went. I wasn't sure why; I just knew that what I touched I would remember, and I wouldn't get lost in the woods. That was pretty much the last thing I needed right now.

Twigs and leaves cracked and snapped under my feet lightly. The sound kept the silence of the woods from getting too thick; they also kept me from talking to myself to fill it in. I always did that for some reason. It felt right, knowing that I could talk to someone who wouldn't be surprised to hear me talk.

At school, things have been okay. It had been a month since Keith came back. All this time he's been trying to get me to meet up with him to "catch up" as he put it, trying to get me to hang out with him. I kept refusing, but each time, I felt a sort of weariness, as if each time I refused my will to refuse would ebb away slowly until I no longer had the strength to say no. Then I would be right back where we had started. In his deceiving claws.

It was different, though, when I refused around Bryan. Keith didn't have any sense of self-preservation; he once came right up to me, asked me to do something with him _alone_, right in front of Bryan. Bryan tried to ignore him, but in the corner of my eye I caught him clenching his jaw. I would slip my hand in his and look at Keith with a steely glare, and tell him no, refuse his offer. Keith had glanced down at our joined hands, and then glanced back at me, and I looked right back at him with my steady gaze, daring him to say or do something about it. He didn't.

It was like Bryan gave me strength, a strength I didn't have when I was alone. It was the same with Sarah. Sarah would fix him with an icy glare outright, though. She somehow managed to stay with me much more now, managing to walk me to my classes when Bryan couldn't and still making it to her own on time, and managing to get out of class early right before lunch and walking with me to our back table.

That was another thing about school. Our back table wasn't really _ours_ anymore. People sat and came by there, now. Ever since the incident with Bryan's little show last month, people have been treating me differently, both positively and negatively. Felicia and Mary were even more hateful than before, from making fun of us and trying to trip us everywhere we crossed paths, to trying to spread rumors and sending people to steal our gym clothes in our separate P.E. classes. It usually didn't work for me, because I could shoot one glare on people, making them think twice about what they were doing, but I've gotten more than one text during third period from Sarah asking for some extra clothes. Lately, I've been carrying a second change of clothes in my backpack, just in case Sarah needed more help.

Those were the negatives. But for the positives, Sarah hasn't stopped getting asked to the prom, or the Winter Dance, or on dates from lots of guys who would never even have glanced at her before Bryan did his trick. She was wary of them, always politely declining, or offering excuses, even though I knew she was waiting for the right guy to ask. She had a crush on one of the players on the football team. He was good-looking and funny and smart, and had a good heart; not like the other guys on the team. That was what made Sarah so crazy about him. She knew she wouldn't get hurt.

Things with me and Bryan were going pretty well, except for one thing; he still hasn't kissed me yet. We have gone on several dates together, all of them different and fun and unique, but not once has he kissed me. I wasn't sure if it was because he didn't want to kiss me, or if he thought I wasn't ready or something, but I was getting restless. Either he kissed me first, or _I_ would kiss _him_. I thought that was fair enough.

A mist started settling in the air, making the woods look dark and spooky and bringing me out of my thoughts. I hadn't noticed when the sun had disappeared below the tree-line, but it seemed to be long gone when I looked over. I didn't even know where I was walking to, but my hands had unconsciously continued touching the trees and leaves, so I wouldn't get lost. But I had never been in this part of the woods before. They were entirely unfamiliar.

I slowed my brisk walk to a normal slow pace, looking around at my surroundings. The trees were thinning out, which led me to believe I would be coming to a clearing soon. No sooner had I had the thought when I came up to something similar. It wasn't a clearing, but a lake, smooth and still, reflecting the waxy moon. It seemed to be almost full, just a few phases from it.

I was immediately tense. I had never liked deep water, not at all. I don't know why. I had gone into a pool once for Sarah's sixth birthday. I had been fine, just swimming around in the smaller section where the hot tub was, when all of a sudden I was dragged underwater by _nothing. _I had flailed my arms and legs, trying desperately to come back up to the air. I had breathed in deeply, swallowing a lot of water. Sarah had saved me, pulling me up and hitting my back so that I could breathe again. I haven't gone into another deep pool like that ever since. I mean, I have gone into a swimming pool with a deep end and swum in it, but I've never gone under water for longer than thirty seconds. I was scarred for life.

The water was calm and undisturbed, not a ripple in sight. I walked around it, looking into it as I walked. My reflection stared back at me, a girl with long black hair and wide gray eyes. I took a deep breath. She took a deep breath. I blinked once. She blinked once. I tilted my head. She tilted her head. I raised my hand. She raised her hand. I crouched down. She grew larger. I moved to touch the water.

And she was broken by something that shot out of the water that wrapped around my throat. I barely had any time to scream before I was pulled underwater.

The first thing that breached my shock and panic was cold. The water was freezing, and I gasped, immediately wishing I hadn't. The icy water filled my lungs, and my eyes snapped open as desperation and despair settled in. The thing squeezed my throat, and my hands shot up and clutched at it, desperately clawing at it to make it release me. I thrashed wildly, my lungs burning for air that I couldn't find. My leg connected with something, and I associated it with the thing around my throat. I kicked at it again, but it didn't make a difference; it only squeezed harder.

As if I knew it was my last chance, I reached up and grabbed the thing—which I thought felt like a tentacle—and pulled, with both hands, desperately trying to get free. At first, it didn't budge. I pulled harder with all my strength, with everything I had. The tentacle started coming away from my throat, releasing me little by little, loosening its grip.

I wrestled it off of me the second I felt its grip loosen enough. I wrapped itself around my leg instead, but I swam toward the surface, desperately and wildly. I broke through, gasping and drawing in one breath of air before sputtering and choking out water. The tentacle's grip tightened and I knew I was going under again. I screamed, and took in another breath as I went under once again.

The fight was brutal. I kicked and fought it with my hands, pulling it off and trying to swim up again, but each time, it would rebound and rewrap itself around my ankle, pulling me down even deeper. My lungs were burning again, and I was desperately trying to get to the surface again. I felt vibrations from the tentacle, and with a flush of anger I realized it was laughing at me. Laughing at my pain.

Anger flushed through me, giving me strength. I kicked at it once more with all the force my weakened body could muster. I hit my target, and a horrible, painful shriek rang out in the water. I put my hands to my ears in pain. Then I swam to the surface in a rush, fear consuming me once again. When I broke out I screamed again. And I found myself screaming a name; one name in particular.

"_Bryan!"_ I screamed hoarsely at the top of my lungs. "_Bryan, HELP!"_

And before I could take another full breath, I was pulled under again, the tentacle squeezing around my waist. I squirmed and struggled as hard as I could, but I was losing strength. I would be lying if I said I wasn't losing consciousness, too. Things were even blurrier, not that I could see anything anyway. Everything was dark, black as pitch. I felt so lightheaded it was a wonder how I wasn't unconscious yet.

Then, something unexpected happened, something that made the tentacle loosen its grip slightly. Something else had jumped into the lake. I seized the opportunity, gripping the tentacle and pushing it away from me as best as I could. The newcomer swam toward us, and suddenly, warm hands were placed over mine, helping me push away the tentacle. A bolt of electricity shot up my arm, giving me adrenaline and clearing my head enough for me to realize who this was and what we were doing.

I pushed harder, with all the strength I had left. The tentacle came off, but it attached itself back on. My hands went limp. My body went limp, falling back gently into the body behind me. The person behind me drew away, and my body bent over backwards, completely limp from the lack of oxygen. Yet, I wasn't passing out. I had no idea what the person did, but all of a sudden that horrible shriek filled the water again, a sharp, earsplitting pain stabbing my head. As much as I wished I could, I couldn't lift my hands to cover my ears.

Then, suddenly, the tentacle loosened its grip completely. I was free, the tentacle falling away from my waist. But something else replaced it, though I wasn't alarmed. It was a human arm, snagging me from the waist and dragging me up to the surface. I went without a choice, neither willingly or unwillingly. We broke out of the water, the person gasping loudly. I didn't make a sound. I couldn't move, and I was suddenly reminded of when I had been passed out from my attack. Only this time, I was peaceful and relaxed. I was drifting, literally drifting. A cool breeze slipped over me, and I was suddenly in a different place, arms carrying me and caressing me lovingly. I was in complete and utter bliss. And then the most beautiful voice I'd ever heard started talking to me, making me smile while I looked around at the beautiful scenery of trees and—clouds?

"Don't worry, dear," the voice said, and I looked up to see a blindingly beautiful face, female, looking down at me with happiness and relief. "Your journey of pain is over. Just relax. Everything will be all right."

Every fiber in my being listened to this person's words—no. This _angel's _words. My mind somehow knew that this beautiful being holding me in their arms was an angel. I felt warm and safe and happy.

Then, I started feeling pressure in my chest. Just one spot, a sort of hard pressure that kept growing, from discomfort to actual pain. It became so intense that I jerked in the angel's arms, and the steady beat of her wings went erratic with panic, and that beautiful voice was marred with worry and fear. And then I was falling, falling fast and hard toward some unknown floor that I couldn't even see. Not a peep came out of me while I fell, and a voice, unmistakably male, seemed to whisper in my ear:

"_The higher the rank, the harder the fall."_

And then I was suddenly sputtering, spitting water out of my mouth and choking, my lungs feeling as if a heavy weight had just been lifted off of me. I was cold, wet, and in pain, lying on my back on leaves, dirt, and twigs, spitting water out of my mouth, water that seemed to keep appearing every time I thought it was all out. It finally did come out, though, and I lay there on my back, soaking wet and gasping.

Then I realized there was a hand on my wrist. I turned my head in that direction—the right—and my eyes widened when I saw a dripping wet Bryan was sitting next to me, looking at me worriedly. I felt sluggish, but not sluggish enough to be unable to feel the flutter in my stomach and the increase of my pulse.

"Bryan," I choked out, moving to sit up or scoot closer. I was shivering, and my voice was hoarse and almost nonexistent.

"Shhhhh," Bryan shushed me. He gently pushed me back down. He leaned over me, his eyes barely visible in the moonlight. His face was above mine, just inches from it, and my breath caught, then sped up. "You're alright now. Don't talk. You'll just hurt yourself."

I managed a small nod, the world spinning around me from my earlier exertion. The only thing steady was Bryan. My heart thumped.

"I have to go now." Bryan leaned away, and frustration welled up inside of me. So close; he'd been so close! Even after he had just saved my life, he wouldn't kiss me! Granted, I could see how that could spoil things, but still! I was so frustrated that I did something I never would've thought I had the courage to do.

"Bryan," he stopped and looked at me when I spoke, probably about to tell me to be quiet again. "Just kiss me, you idiot." And then I put my hand to his cheek, and kissed his mouth.

His lips were so soft, and they moved against mine in synchronization, making me dizzy; he was _kissing me back_. Bryan put his hand to my face as well, bringing me closer to him. I responded eagerly, and he pushed me back onto the ground with his body. Then, little popping sounds started in my ear, and I felt even dizzier, and before I knew it, the world around me went black.

~000~

"Ugghnnn," I groaned. My head pounded fiercely, and I groaned even louder in pain as I rolled over on the ground.

Wait a minute. Ground. What was I doing on the ground in the forest?

Memories flushed over me in a rush, like water flowing out of a broken dam. I remembered the tentacle thing drowning me underwater… I remembered fighting it over and over… I remembered the person—Bryan—coming to my rescue and helping me… he dragged me out of the water… then I… I…

I what? Then angel came, and was carrying me somewhere. But, did that mean that I had… died? And come back to life when Bryan beat the water out of me? I had almost crossed over! I really had died!

And then I came back… Bryan saved my life twice. No, three times, I noted as I found the jacket that was covering me. And…

I had kissed him. And he had kissed me back. That had to mean something, right?

I ran my finger over my lips, remembering how soft Bryan's had been, how electricity had seemed to course through us, how wonderful that kiss had seemed. How long I had waited for it.

A strong gust of wind brought me out of my thoughts, and I shivered hard. I stood up, pulling Bryan's jacket tighter around me. I walked back in the direction I came, remembering what I had touched. In no time at all, I was already to the half-way-mark stump. I patted it again like before as I walked past. The wind was getting stronger and much more frequent, and I worried about getting hypothermia or something close, walking around soaking wet and exposed.

Bryan was long gone, but somehow I knew that he was fine, that he was okay. I hoped he wasn't upset about my kissing him. I mean, he shouldn't be surprised. At least, I hoped not. But I wasn't going to let embarrassment get in the way of me seeing him again soon. After all, I do have school and two other classes with him.

I could see my house now, lights on in the downstairs windows. The sight gave me a burst of energy, and I sped up my pace, getting to the porch steps just as a huge gust of wind knocked me into the rail. The corner of the rail dug into my side with bruising force, and I grunted in annoyance and pain. Holding my side, I leaped up onto the porch and walked through the door, shutting the cold air out.

I stood there facing the door in the foyer, dripping cold lake water onto the mat. My mother would be furious if she saw me come in like this. Maybe I could sneak past them and go upstairs to change, or even take a shower before they saw me.

"Naomi?"

Too late.

"Naomi, is that you?" Mom's voice carried into the foyer from the living room, and I heard the rustle of couch cushions, the clinking of cups being put down on the coffee table, and the sound of shoes thumping on the floor as several people walked this way. My heart beat faster as those footsteps grew closer. I felt myself unraveling, my emotionless mask slipping away, my protective shield cracking, as the weight of what had just occurred several minutes, hours, some time ago. I had died. I had died, and I would've left this world, would've left my parents, my best friend, my boyfriend here to mourn my death. I had almost lost them, and been lost to them.

"Naomi?" I heard my mother say in incredulous surprise. I turned around to see the adults standing in the doorway between the living room and the foyer. "Why are you all wet?"

The concern that flooded all four pairs of eyes was what broke me. Tears fell from my eyes in turmoil, and there was nothing I could do to stop them. I sniffled, and a sob escaped from my mouth as I ran over to my dad, burying my face in his chest. He wrapped his arms around me protectively without hesitation, kissing the top of my wet head as violent sobs racked my body repeatedly.

"Daddy," I managed to choke out into his chest in between sobs. It sounded several octaves higher than I could normally achieve, and I knew I was in hysterics.

"What happened, baby? What's the matter, what's wrong?" He asked me, letting go of me to hold me so that he could lean down to my level. Tears and sobs continued to escape from me, and I shook my head at him, both in answer to his questions and to say that I couldn't talk.

Dad led me to the living room and sat down, pulling me into his lap where I willingly crawled, tucking my head under his chin the way I used to when I was much younger. Mom sat next to us, looking at me in concern. She had every right to. I have never broken down like this, not once in my life, not even close to this. I seldom cried. I seldom did anything that contributed to symptoms of the 'sad' emotion.

"Sweetheart," Mom said softly, though loud enough to be heard over my sobs. "What happened? Why are you crying?"

I could only sob and point a trembling hand toward the window in the direction of the woods. Her eyes narrowed, and she looked toward the window as if to glare at what she thought had upset me. I continued to sob, somehow managing to sob out some apologies. I knew what I was apologizing for, but they didn't. I was apologizing for dying, for nearly leaving them. They brushed them off, saying there was nothing for me to apologize for; but only I knew the truth.

Gradually, I calmed down some, but I was still gasping by the time I tried to form an answer for them. "I"—gasp—"was walking"—gasp—"in the woods"—gasp—"like I told you I would"—gasp—"and I wanted"—gasp—"to explore, so"—hiccup. Dad patted my back. I took a deep, quavering breath. "So I went farther away over there and came up to"—gasp—"the lake. I went to go look at it closer, and something came out and dragged me under. I"—gasping sob—"I drowned!"

That last part was part moan part sob, and I buried my face in Dad's shoulder. He wrapped his arms around me again, squeezing me tightly.

"Baby, you didn't drown," Mom told me gently, and I could see several conflicting emotions in her green eyes. Love. Gentleness. Uncertainty.

Fear.

"If you had," Nora said, and I turned my head to look at her and Patch sitting on the edges of the other couch. "You wouldn't be here with us right now."

_So _not the right thing to say.

I started sobbing all over again, and I felt the blood drain from my face. They all shared a glance. It took me a while to formulate my sobbed response.

"B-but," I sniffled. "I _did_ drown! _I died!"_

Everyone stiffened suddenly, rigid and frozen in their seats. I sobbed even harder.

"What do you mean you died?" Patch asked me seriously and slowly. "What did you see?"

I sniffled, and moved my wet hair from my face to answer him. "I saw nothing at first, just this really bright flash, and then someone was holding me and I could hear wings. The lady—she was an angel. I knew she was. She told me it was okay, that my journey was over. She said to relax, so I did. And then I felt this horrible pain in my chest, and the angel starts panicking, and then I fall _through_ her arms, and I fall down, hard and fast, and then I'm spitting out water, choking. And then I see my boyfriend, Bryan, he was there. He saved me. He brought me back."

And for some reason, hearing myself say that out loud makes more tears leak out, more sobs escape my mouth.

"And then I pass out, and when I wake up he's gone, and I'm alone. He left his jacket for me, but I know he's okay. I don't know how, but I know. I feel it."

All eyes are on me, wide and shocked. Then I remembered what Patch and Nora were supposed to do.

"Are you," I began, but I cleared my throat and began again, my voice less hoarse. "Are you going to talk to me, now?"

Patch and Nora snapped out of it, sharing a very intense glance. If I didn't know any better, I would've said it looked like they were having a conversation in their heads. They broke up from their little staring contest and engaged into one with my parents. Both of them nodded, and my Mom got up, leaving the room.

I watched her as she left, sending a confused glance at Dad and the Ciprianos. They just shook their heads at me, and I didn't press the issue. My heart was beating too wildly for me to want to ask. My sniffles gradually stopped to the occasional hiccup, leaving me with a damp and sticky face, while I sat on Dad's lap, still dripping wet.

Nora and Patch stared at me, and Nora seemed to come to grips with the fact that I was wet. Her expression turned into one of concern, and she said, "Honey, why don't you go take a shower and I'll make something for you to eat. You don't want to get sick, and neither do we. Go on; I'll help you up if you want me to."

I nodded carefully; my head was still throbbing slightly. Nora came over to me and gently wrapped her arms around me, one supporting my shoulders, the other supporting the backs of my knees, carrying me like a child. This wasn't what I had thought she meant, but I wasn't exactly complaining.

I felt so unlike myself in those moments that I didn't even care. I let Nora carry me upstairs to the bathroom, let her help me peel out of my first wet layers, and let her turn the water on for me. She did everything slowly and carefully, as if any sudden movement might cause me to break down again. I was grateful.

When she left to go make me some soup, I took off my final layers and took my shower, relishing in the feeling of hot water on my skin. Wherever I touched, I felt like my skin was icy stone, cold and hard. In the water, I felt myself begin to come back to my usual self. Pulled together. Protected in my silence. Hopefully strong. Guarded.

Alive.

I stood in the water for fifteen minutes, already done with shampoo and conditioner and body wash. My skin was still pretty cool, so I sat in the tub, letting the water cascade over my cold body. I remembered that Bryan had been there when I had had my little war with that creature-thing. I decided that I would text him as I got out.

But then I remembered that my cell phone had been in my back pocket when I had gone out for my walk in the woods. I stood up hurriedly, turning off the water and wrapping the towel Nora had left for me around my wet body as I stepped out of the tub. The bathroom was filled with hot steam, and my mouth automatically opened, breathing it in and looking for cooler fresh air. I barely had any time to turn on the fan.

I kneeled on the floor, grabbing my soaked jeans and feeling the pockets, hoping against hope that my cell phone wouldn't—

My hand stopped on the left back pocket of my jeans. There was a large lump there, hard and rectangular. I sighed, shoulders slumping in defeat. Great. There goes three hundred dollars of my parents' money down the drain. It had been a birthday present, too. _Dammit!_

Knowing it wouldn't work, I pressed the on button. Nothing. The screen stayed black, no matter how long I held the stupid button. I gave up, tossing it in the sink, and then dried and dressed myself in the pajamas Nora must've left for me. They were warm, and smelled like those sheets that you put in the dryer with clothes so that they smell nice. She must've put them in the dryer first. My heart warmed a few degrees, knowing that she had gone through all that trouble for me.

But then I grew troubled. Mom thought it was bad for me to love them while they kept this secret from me. How much could it really affect me? What would it do? I couldn't hate them. I knew that for sure. I just didn't have that in me. I wasn't a hateful person; it wasn't in my nature to hate someone, no matter what wrong they did to me. Or could do to me. Hating someone over something they did some time ago is… useless. Your hate isn't going to get you revenge. It isn't going to change the fact that they did what they did. You just had to stop living in the past and forget them. Besides, forgetting someone is probably the worst thing you could do to them, especially if the person wants you to remember it.

And it may seem impossible to forget it, especially if it's life-changing, but hey. You gotta change with the tide; flow with it. Don't fight it. Cause it will hurt you. For sure.

I came out of the bathroom when I finished changing. I climbed down the stairs, each one creaking beneath my feet as if announcing my presence and arrival. I could feel their awareness of me even before I descended the final step, like the radiation of sunlight—it's warmth, I mean.

I timidly entered the living room. They were there, waiting; Nora, holding a bowl of something steaming in her hands; Patch sitting next to her, jaw clenched tight and shoulders rigid with tension; and Dad, changed into dry clothes, as I had gotten his old clothes wet by sitting on his lap.

I came over and just stood there in front of the coffee table, not sure where to sit. I wasn't sure if I wanted to sit next to Nora and Patch while they talked to me, or if I wanted to sit next to Dad and feel awkward because of the fact that I was unsure of who to sit with. Dad, understanding my hesitation, snatched one of the big pillows from beside him and threw it behind me on the floor so I could sit. I smiled at him in thanks.

So I sat, in between them, and stared at my clasped hands on the coffee table, not looking at any of them. Mom was still absent. I had seen my face in the mirror when I had changed in the bathroom and had been dismayed at how broken I looked. My eyes and nose were red and puffy, and I had never looked so weak in my entire life. It was one thing to completely break down in front of my parents and their friends, but it was another thing entirely to still _look_ it. It was evidence and a reminder of something I wanted to forget.

"Naomi, sweetheart, are you alright?" Nora's soft voice broke through my thoughts. I looked up at her, and it took me a few seconds for my muddled mind to form a response. I merely nodded mutely. "How do you feel?" Sticking to silence, I shrugged. To be honest, I wasn't really sure. I felt a lot of things. Embarrassment. Shame. Tiredness.

And a lingering trace of something I really didn't like: Fear.

"Well, here. Eat this. Hopefully it'll make you better." And I was grateful to her in that moment because she didn't push me to talk, didn't push me to say anything. She placed the bowl of soup in front of me and I shot her a small smile that stayed up for only a second. Everyone, besides me, seemed to sigh in unison.

"Well, I guess we'd better begin. Vee isn't going to stay up there forever. And besides, she's expecting an explosion," Dad added, chuckling. What he said confused me, but I didn't press the issue.

"Alright, well, where should we begin?" Nora asked, looking at both men helplessly. She rested her chin on her fist, which was propped up on her knee. I was suddenly struck by the similarity of the position. I did that when I was upset, or needed to think. I always had, but seeing another person do it was… odd. And I wasn't sure why. It was just weird seeing another person act on my habit…

"I think," Patch said, interrupting my thoughts, "we should start with our… _conditions_." The others nodded. I had no idea what they were talking about, let alone why Patch had stressed out 'conditions.'

"Well, Naomi," Dad began, "I'm going to be very frank with you, because I know that you are strong, and that you won't overreact like Vee did when we told her." Huh. That was weird. He called her by her first name instead of saying, "your mother" like he usually did. I brushed that aside and nodded to him.

"Naomi," he sighed as if saying my name was more than he could bear, "Nora, Patch, and I are not human."

I stared. Swallowing discreetly, I nodded, accepting this as an unknown fact, at least until it was proven wrong. Or right.

"We are—well, Nora and I—are a race called Nephilim. Do you remember that from the times Vee's mother read the bible with you? Do you remember that?"

I remembered something like that. I could recall a vague memory of me as a little five-year-old sitting on Nana Sky's lap, reading passages that she told me to read, and listening as she explained to me what I was reading. I could remember one word in particular that she had explained. _Nephilim._

I nodded, feeling my eyes turn steely to guard off what I was thinking. I saw Patch wince and touch his head as if he had a slight headache, or couldn't think straight, out of the corner of my eye. I shot him a questioning look, but when he only looked at me, seeming to scrutinize me, I looked away and returned my attention to Dad, who also seemed to be having trouble focusing. I looked over at Nora and saw that while the same thing was happening to her, she was hiding it, composing herself much better than the guys.

Dad finally composed himself, and started to explain. "Nephilim are creatures that are a result of fallen angels and mortal women mating. We are immortal, and have super strong strength and speed, and we can… invade and control minds."

The hairs on my arms and the back of my neck stood straight on end, and I stiffened. Alarm threatened to consume me. They could control minds? Like, _my_ mind? My hands tightened into fists, and I scrambled mentally to guard my thoughts, to think of nothing at all. Again, all three adults seemed to have trouble with their heads. Dad and Patch were squinting, and Nora was frowning slightly, looking at the coffee table with acute interest.

"We can't read minds," Dad rushed to console me. I didn't drop my guard. How could it come to this, that I was blocking myself off from my father, of all people? "But we can put words and images there, or manipulate people into doing what we want. I hardly do it; as a matter of fact, I haven't done it since the day you were born. Even before that. I have used it to talk to them, though. Like a few seconds ago, I was talking to them in their minds."

I found myself looking at them warily, not sure what to do or what they were going to do. To be honest, I wasn't sure how I felt about this. My dad was a… Nephilim. A cross between a fallen angel and a human. Did that mean that I was Nephilim, too? A flurry of emotions coursed through me then. Curiosity. Wariness. Thoughtfulness. And something like… repulsiveness. Then shame. I wasn't repulsed by Nephilim. I was repulsed by their making.

If they were part fallen angel and part mortal and fallen angels could manipulate minds, then wouldn't that mean that it could've been trickery? Of course, not everyone would have been manipulated into a fallen angel's bed. It might've been love or attraction. I really didn't know enough about fallen angels or anything they were about to explain to me to make such judgments.

"So, Nora and I are Nephilim. Nora was changed into a purebred Nephilim by her late father Hank Miller when there was some… action going on. And I was born this way."

Despite the situation, I snorted, unable to help myself. "Purebred?" I said slightly incredulous. I figured I could try to lighten the mood a little. The seriousness was kinda suffocating. "You make her sound like a dog."

They gave a few tense, knowing chuckles, but the seriousness surrounded us all again.

"You said that only you and Nora were Nephilim." I raised my gray eyes to Patch. He met them steadily. "What about you?"

Patch scooted closer to the edge of his seat on the couch, hands clasped between his knees in what I recognized as a nervous gesture. He meant to hide the shakes in his hands; I knew because I had done this before. Though it made me wonder just how much they were sacrificing just to tell me this. It made me look at them with a little more respect. Patch cleared his throat.

"I'm the other part," Patch said, flashing a quick humorless smile. "I'm a fallen angel."

My stomach tightened, then relaxed. This was Patch. He wouldn't invade my mind, or manipulate me. That didn't mean I would let down my guard, though. I pushed it up again, and like before, the adults touched their temples. I frowned slightly. They were acting so strange….

"A fallen angel has pretty much the same abilities, except that we were angels once. And we can't feel. Our sense of touch and feel is nonexistent. If I were to touch your hand"—he reached out and grabbed my hand—"I wouldn't feel it. I wouldn't experience it the way you would. You would feel my skin touching yours, feel warmth, maybe, or something. But I don't feel a thing. This body doesn't allow it.

"That is why there is Cheshvan. Cheshvan is a two week period in the month where there are no Jewish holidays. During that time, a fallen angel could possess their Nephilim vassal, which will have sworn an oath of fealty, and use that body for the two weeks of Cheshvan. Once a Nephilim swears an oath of fealty, they stop aging, and are forever to be possessed by the fallen angel they swore the oath to. That is the only time a fallen angel can experience human sensations. Our emotional connection, however, isn't lacking." He smiled a wry smile. One that I didn't return.

Possession? Fallen angels possessed Nephilim? On their own accord, my eyes flickered to Dad and Nora. They didn't notice. Had they sworn an oath of fealty? Did they have a fallen angel knocking on their door the day before Cheshvan started, demanding to take possession of their bodies for two whole weeks, doing whatever the hell they wanted with it? I shuddered involuntarily. And more importantly, did _Patch_ have a Nephilim vassal that he possessed every month during Cheshvan?

Patch must've followed my line of thinking, or he must've been there himself, waiting for me to get to it, because no sooner had I thought it, he said softly, "I don't have a Nephilim vassal. I haven't in more than seventeen years."

That comforted me a little, but I was still uneasy at the revolting concept. How all of those Nephilim must feel…

"How are you dealing with all of this?" Dad asked me, uneasiness on his face. Uneasiness for me, I could see.

I took a deep breath, evaluating my feelings. While I was bewildered by all of this, one side of me somehow managed to remain calm and unsurprised, as if I had known this all my life. As if I had grown up knowing this, following these guidelines, or something. That automatically made me uneasy. I shouldn't be so calm, so relaxed by all the things I was learning. But I was accepting all of this, for the most part.

I just needed some proof.

"Well," I said, "This is all very fascinating. I never would've guessed, to tell you the truth…. But, I still find it a little hard to believe. If you guys had some proof, something that could give me that one final push…." I trailed off, sure that they got the idea.

They all shared meaningful glances, and I was startled into the realization that there was more going on than I was led to believe. It was more than just a few looks. They were _talking in each other's minds. _I was instantly curious and wary. Though my curiosity far outweighed my wariness, as you could probably guess.

"Oh my gosh," I gasped. "You guys are doing it, aren't you? Talking to each other in your heads."

They didn't need to nod to tell me. And they sure as hell didn't. Instead, I heard several voices inside my head at once, though they were relatively faint.

_Yes,_ the voices said. _We are. We're debating what to use as proof to show you…_

And without knowing how I knew, they left. It wasn't like the end of a call on a phone, where you're left listening to a dial tone, or even hearing a soft click. It was more of a sort of empty silence, and an instinct that told me that they had faded out. They didn't give me a chance to respond back—if that was possible, anyway.

Suddenly, Dad, Nora, and Patch all nodded at the same time. I was naturally uneasy, feeling left out of a conversation I thought was unfair to leave me out of, but what happened next really alarmed me. Deeply.

Patch scooted once more to the edge of his seat and started shrugging off his leather jacket. I raised an eyebrow questioningly, my alarm growing as he started to take off his shirt. My eyes widened in alarm, and I put my hands out, palms facing him.

"Uh—is that really necessary?" I asked, my alarm evident in my face and voice.

"As a matter of fact," Patch said glibly, "It is." His tone did not match the rigidness of his tense shoulders, or the confliction in his eyes. He gazed at me with those deep black eyes now, endless black to stormy gray. I gazed back steadily, trying to radiate calmness and level-headedness.

Patch blew out a nervous sigh, and turned away from me, exposing his back. I sucked in a breath through my teeth. I couldn't believe my eyes.

On his back were two of the most horrific scars I had ever seen. They were black as black licorice, forming an upside-down V, starting from his shoulder blades to his kidneys. My breathing was quivery and shock ran through me, pain for Patch and fury accompanying it. I was seconds away from angry, unhappy tears, crying because I suddenly hated who had done this to him and dreaded how much pain he must've felt. Even though he couldn't feel… well, he had to have been able to feel before, right?

I covered my mouth with one hand in horror, and then covered my face with both hands and laid my head down on the coffee table.

"No more," I moaned. "I don't want to see that!" Then, looking up again and speaking with a soft voice, "Who did this to you?" All three of them looked surprised to see my face wet with tears, most of all Patch. But his expression turned grim, and he turned back around, those horrible black scars in my vision again.

"Touch them," he said curtly, harshly. "Touch them, and think about your question. Keep it in mind. And no matter what happens, just know that it was all in the past. It's all happened before and there's nothing you can do to stop it, so please don't try. Just watch."

I found myself scared to even try. I was frozen, not wanting to touch them for fear of hurting him.

"You won't hurt me," he promised, reading my hesitation. "I can't feel anything, remember?" He gave a hard, humorless laugh.

Summoning up my courage, I breathed in deeply, and then extended my hand toward his back, looking away. My hand touched something warm, and I jumped, almost snatching my hand back. But I had missed. I was touching smooth, scar-less skin. I didn't want to have to look, but I knew it was inevitable now if I was to do what he told me to. So, I looked over at him back, took one look at his scar—the right one, the one closest to me—and plunged my hand toward it, not sparing a single moment for me to think.

Then I felt as if I was being sucked into a dark chute, and the world went black.

When the world came back into focus, I found myself in the middle of a busy street. At least, that's what it looked like. In reality, it wasn't much more than a walk way between two fields. Corn grew on either side of the dirt walk-way, and people were weaving in between the cornstalks, grabbing the grain and putting it into a basket as they walked by. The majority of people there were women, though I saw the occasional little boy, not much older than one or two, trailing behind older women whom I supposed were their mothers.

They wore very old-style clothes, like back from the 18 or 1700s. It struck me as weird that I should be so far out of my time, and I struggled to remind myself that I was here to see Patch, to see who had marred his back with those horrific scars. I shuddered just thinking about it, thinking about the pain he must've gone through. I felt my own back tingle with heat and ache with imaginary pain.

I felt a sense of urgency pulling me somewhere beyond these fields. I followed it, reminding myself of what Patch said. _Don't change anything, don't try anything, just watch,_ I told myself fiercely. I went with the pull, arriving after a short walk through the fields on a dark corner behind a shop for candles, where two men stood, one of them brandishing a knife and the other pressed up against the wall.

On an instinct I couldn't name, I hid behind the wall of the shop. I peered around over it again, and watched as the man with the knife suddenly dropped it, then looked around as if he didn't know where he was. He looked straight at the other man, but it was like he couldn't see the other man there. Then he sighed, and turned in the opposite direction, coming into a patch of light.

The man was tall and blonde, wearing those old-fashioned clothes like everyone else I had passed. I was in a busy town now, unnoticed by the people working and walking. Nobody could see me, I realized, so I stepped out to get a closer look at the two men. The man against the wall suddenly walked out of the shadows and into the light. I sucked in a breath as I saw who it was.

Patch stood there behind the blonde-haired man, a look of concentration on his face. He was shirtless, wearing nothing but a stark white robe that covered half of his torso and everything else from the waist down. He looked much the same as he did in my time, though he looked less hard and expressionless here, innocent and vulnerable.

I watched in growing alarm as he seemed to fuzz out of his shape, like one big blur while a more definitive shape of him stood where he was. Half of his blurred form entered the blonde-haired man, but the rest of him couldn't. No matter what Patch seemed to do, he couldn't enter the man. I realized then, as he sighed in frustration and defeat, what he was trying to do.

He was trying to possess this man's body.

I scrambled backwards, tripping over my own two feet and landing on my butt on the floor. I sat there, half sitting half lying on the dirt as I watched this Patch turn away in anger. And that's when I saw them; two feathered midnight black wings, as black as the hair on his head. He unfurled them, and crouched to take off. Acting on an instinct, I leaped forward and grabbed his ankle. He didn't appear to notice, and took off, taking me with him as I dangled for dear life hundreds of feet above the ground.

I looked up at him while he flew, and saw something in his face that I hadn't noticed before. Euphoria, plain and joyous, in his expression; I knew it had something to do with the sensation of flying. I could feel it myself, growing bigger and bigger as we distanced ourselves from the floor.

But as we reached a patch of open clouds that were streaming a pure white light that I couldn't bear to look straight into, our euphoria was short-lived. Suddenly, we weren't flying anymore; Six other figures, all dressed in robes much like Patch's—except that they were completely covered from head to toe—grabbed Patch by his arms and legs, and forced him to kneel on what I assumed were clouds. I was roughly thrown back, in front of them where I could see everything perfectly. The figures also had wings, though they varied in color, some of them pale yellow that I recognized as blonde, others brown, and one of them red-ish brown-ish that reminded me of Nora's hair.

Before I could fathom what was happening, reality hit me like a ton of bricks. They were going to do it. They were going to tear off his wings. The breath was knocked out of me, leaving me dizzy and disoriented, and I struggled to think clearly. These angels were… were…

_The Avenging Angels. _I didn't know how I knew, but I did. It was like I had known all along.

The Avenging angels all held a struggling Patch still, while the other two of the six stood behind him. One of them, a blonde-haired one with icy blue eyes opened his mouth and said, "Stop struggling, Jev. It'll make it easier if you stop."

Patch's eyes showed fear—and that was enough to have me off the clouds and jumping at them, doing exactly what Patch had said not to do.

"No, no, stop!" I screamed. But just as I reached them, I suddenly went _through _them, landing half inside of Patch and half out. I pulled myself back just as the blonde angel started ripping. Patch let out a howling scream of pain, his head flung back as black feathers and blood came free. The blonde angel didn't stop there; he continued to rip them off, not giving Patch a chance to try to fight him or stop him or get used to the pain. Blood splattered everywhere and tears dripped down Patch's face, his howls of pain only escalating as the two angels behind him ripped lower and lower. Tears streamed down my face too, sharing his pain and wishing it away with everything I had. I screamed and sobbed with him, feeling a connection between us that I felt nothing could break. Blood and feathers rained everywhere, and I felt a splatter of Patch's blood hit my cheek, mingling with the salt and water of my tears. It made me angry that these angels could stand to watch and do this, could cause fellow angels this much pain.

And then, it was over. The two angels behind Patch stepped back, and Patch slumped forward, exhausted and smeared with blood and sweat all over. His breathing was haggard, and the only thing keeping him up was the grip of the four angels holding him. Those four angels looked over now at the blonde-haired one. He nodded and flicked his hand carelessly, saying, "It's done."

The four angels nodded and, together, lifted a limp Patch up like a ragdoll. Then, they unceremoniously tossed him over the edge of the clouds. I cried out, jumping to the edge of the clouds and lying there, looking over. Patch tumbled over and over, falling faster and faster toward the ground below, hurtling at full speed toward earth. I reached one hand out, as if I could stop him like that with my hand.

"_Patch!"_

"Naomi! Naomi, baby, are you alright? Baby, please, answer me!"

I opened my eyes, my eyelashes all wet and sticky, and found three faces hovering over mine, anxious and worried. My eyes found Patch's, and I immediately attacked him in a bear-like hug, sobbing again as the memories of that horrible event replayed in my mind.

"Patch," I sobbed into his shoulder. "Oh my God. I can't believe you went through that! I can't believe they did that to you! Your wings—flying—the feathers—Avenging angels—blood!"

I pulled back suddenly, keeping arm around his neck, and touched one hand to my cheek, the same cheek that had been splattered with Patch's blood. When I drew away my hand, my fingers were coated with blood, red and sticky with that metallic smell. I gasped and screamed, viciously rubbing my face to get it all off. Patch grabbed my wrist and held it to him, holding me tightly as well to calm me.

"Shhhhh," he murmured, rocking us back and forth. I was gasping, unable to get the vision of his blood out of my head. His face, contorted in pain, seeing him fall over the edge of the sky, watching him helplessly as the Avenging angels tore his wings out.

"I'm so sorry," I whispered brokenly. "You went through so much pain and I… I couldn't help you. I went right through them. I'm so sorry," I repeated. I put my arms around his neck again, hugging him tighter.

"It's not your fault," Patch said, his voice gruff. "It was mine. I had to be punished for what I had done, and I was. But I would do it all over again a hundred times for you or Nora."

"Why?" I whispered. My tears were lessening now, having washed away the blood. Nora and Dad were just watching us, not saying a word.

"Touch my scars again."

"No."

"There's something else you need to see," Patch insisted. I pulled away, gulping.

"Is it going to be… like before?" I asked. I didn't want to go to another place that had any more pain or blood.

"No." Patch's eyes were gentle, and his voice was soft. "It'll be something different. Just touch my scars and you'll see."

I swallowed nervously, and then nodded. Patch turned his back to me, and I reached out and slapped my hand to his scar. And then I was being sucked back into the dark chute again.

When I opened my eyes again, I was sitting in a dark car. Rain beat on the windows, and I saw two people in the front seat, a man and a woman. As they stopped at a stop light, I saw with a start that the couple in the front was Patch and Nora. They both looked anxious, Nora more so than Patch, who kept his face expressionless and blank as he drove.

I was totally confused. What were they doing? What was going on? Why did they look so nervous and worried? I was interrupted in my line of questions by soft coos and gurgles coming from beside me. I turned and saw a baby's car seat, a baby girl nestled inside.

She was small, extremely so, and delicate in a way that made you want to protect her from everything and anything that might do her harm. But I felt a sort of connection to this baby, who was so oblivious to the feelings in the car, the tension and pain and utter _grief_. It made me wonder, with a growing sense of apprehension, what Nora and Patch were going to do to this child. It was too dark inside the car to see what the baby really looked like, but I could see she had pretty dark hair that peeped out from underneath her white cap.

The car turned suddenly to a familiar street, and I looked out the windows through the rain, trying to see where we were. When the car stopped and I could see the house we pulled up in front of, I couldn't believe my eyes. We were in front of _my house._ What the hell were we doing at my house?

Patch cut off the engine and just sat there, the air thick with tension. Nora sat still, looking near tears, seeming to brace herself against something. Then Patch spoke.

"You know how against this I am." It wasn't a question; he was merely stating the obvious.

Nora nodded, still keeping silent. I had the feeling that if she opened her mouth and tried to speak, she would start sobbing. Not looking over at her, Patch nodded, almost as if to himself.

"We don't have to do this. I really don't want to do this. I don't want to give her up—,"

"We're not giving her up," Nora interjected, her voice quivering slightly. "We're only hiding her until it's safe."

"And when is that going be?" Patch asked, sounding agitated. "It might never be safe for her! We can hide her. We've been doing just fine. Why do you all of a sudden want to give her to them—,"

"Because I want her to be safe, and where we are, it's not safe for a baby!" Nora shouted. I glanced down at the baby beside me. She was momentarily silent, and then she started her gurgling again. How blissfully unaware she was.

Nora shook her head and wiped at her eyes. Seeing her tears, Patch reached over and unbuckled their seatbelts, sliding Nora over to his seat in his lap. She leaned his head on his chest and said, "I don't want anything bad to happen to her. I don't want her to be involved in any of this. I never had a choice; I was plunged into the middle of it. I don't want the same for her."

Patch tenderly brushed her hair out of her face. "I don't either, but I don't want to cut myself out of her life. I don't want her to see me and not know that I'm her father. I want to be a part of her life, not as a stranger, but as her father; her flesh and blood. I want to be there for everything. Teach her how to ride a bike, hear her first word, and see her walk for the first time. See her go to school, help her with her math homework, hell, even the sex-talk, I want to be there for it!"

Nora laughed tiredly. "So do I, but if we even want her to get to those stages in her life, we have to do this. It's the right thing to do."

Patch's face was grim, but he got out of the car. He got the baby out of the car, too, car seat and all. Nora handled the bags, which she got from the trunks. Together, they all walked up the driveway to the porch and knocked on the door. Patch set the car seat on the floor and took the baby out of it, cradling her to his chest. I stood there, watching them as his black eyes showed the sadness of a parent losing their child. Because that was exactly what they were doing now. Giving their child away to protect her. At least, I thought so.

The door opened, and I wasn't too shocked at who peered out at Patch and Nora from inside. Mom and Dad looked shocked, obviously half-asleep by the look in their eyes.

"What are you two doing h—," Mom started, but Nora cut her off.

"We need you to take care of her, please," Nora pleaded as if she thought my parents would say no.

Mom's face turned blank, but then understanding dawned on her as she glanced at Patch's tired, heartbroken face. "For the whole night….?" She asked, though I knew she knew she was wrong.

Nora shot her a meaningful look. Mom sighed and said softly, "For how long? Will you guys be back?"

Patch and Nora shared a look, and finally Patch said to Mom, "We'll be back and until it's safe."

Dad, who stood a little behind Mom, said, "We'll guard her with our lives, I swear. After all, I'm not going anywhere no matter what." I could tell he tried to say it lightly, but it only seemed to add another dark note above them.

The Ciprianos nodded. Patch gave his daughter a firm, yet gentle kiss on her forehead, then gave her to Nora. There was a little light filtering form the inside of my house, but I still couldn't see the baby clearly yet. I felt my heart beat increasing, anticipation hovering over me, though for what I couldn't tell. Something was about to happen. Something big.

Nora, holding her daughter in her arms, peppered the baby with kisses, sniffling because of the tears choking their way back up again. Patch moved closer to them and unclasped something from around his neck. He placed it over his baby's head, caressing her cheek with his finger. The air seemed to whisper something then, something that I remembered hearing so many times in my dreams:

_So you'll still have a piece of me no matter what._

Nora sniffled harder. Turning away, she handed the baby to Mom. Without a word, for she was on the verge of tears herself, Mom took her and said, "You had better be back soo, you hear me?"

Nora tried to laugh, but it came out as a sob instead. Patch encircled her tightly in his arm. The baby, startled by the sound, started crying. Mom shushed her, bouncing her gently, to try to calm her down.

The sound of her child crying for her was too much for Nora. She turned and walked quickly down the driveway through the rain to the car. Patch, tears rimming his own eyes, kissed his daughter's forehead one last time, and went after his wife. They climbed into the sedan and drove away.

I stood there, riveted, trying to make sense of what I had just seen.

Patch and Nora had a daughter. Patch and Nora had given their daughter to my parents. Where was their daughter now? Who was she? What was the thing Patch had given his daughter?

Taking a breath, I closed my eyes, remembering the scene in my mind. The thing had been a necklace. My breath caught. The thing had been a plain silver men's chain.

_My _plain silver men's chain.

My parents started closing the door, and I skirted the edge, going in at the last second. They had their backs to me, walking into the living room, Mom carrying the baby, Dad carrying the bags and the carseat. I followed them, staying behind them as they sat down on the couch. They cuddled the baby, who had ceased her tears, smiling at her. The look in their eyes told me that they had already fallen in love with this baby girl.

My eyes skimmed over the baby, now in full light. She was even smaller in the light, with a small nose, small plump lips, and rosy cheeks. My heart was beating ten times faster now. Her eyes were closed, but I already knew what color they were before she opened them.

Gray. Stormy gray.

My eyes.

This baby was me.

I opened my eyes slowly, afraid of what I might find if I opened them. I felt strange, light-headed. But certainly not calm. No, the storminess of my eyes had come full throttle, ready to be let loose. I stared at Patch and Nora. They stared back at me.

"What was that?" I asked breathlessly. I couldn't believe it. I wasn't sure what to believe. Obviously it was a memory. Obviously that baby was me. That meant… I was…

I didn't know who I was anymore.

"Naomi, baby," Nora began, coming closer. I cut her off.

"Don't," I told her, a little frantic. "Don't call me that."

"Naomi," Nora began again. "It's true. It's all true. We can't lie to you through that. That's a memory. And it's true. We're… your parents," she whispered, tears in her eyes. Hopeful tears.

That was just too bad. Mom—well, Vee—was right. Nora Grey Cipriano shouldn't be hoping after this.

"No. No. That—that can't be true, I mean, how? That's not possible, right? Dad?" I looked over at him, stopping my frantic voice for a second. "Is that true? Please, tell me the truth. It can't be true." I was on my knees now, in front of him.

Dad—Scott—looked down at me. His eyes, filled with sorrow and regret, told me all I needed to know.

"No," I said again, thickly yet firmly. Defiantly. "You're not my parents. I. Don't. Know. Who. You. Are." I enunciated each word, making them all individual sentences. "Parents raise their own children. Parents are there to love their children while they grow, to give them guidance and help them throughout their lives." Tears were streaming down my cheeks, but I didn't stop talking. Patch and Nora looked at me, looking torn. Good.

"I don't know you two. The only things I know about you are your names. You are _strangers to me. _You were never there. You didn't hold that bottle for me to eat, you didn't change my diapers, you didn't feed me, or bathe me, or rocked me to sleep. You didn't see me learn to crawl, or take my first step, didn't see me eat my first solid food. You didn't hear me say my first word, or give me a spanking when I needed one. You weren't there to pick me up when I fell, or wipe my tears when I cried, or kiss my wound to make it better. You weren't there for any of my birthdays, weren't there to be proud or disappointed in my grades.

"Did you know I'm the best runner in my school? Did you know that I won the art show in the third grade, using a picture of you two? Imagine how _lost _I felt when the judges asked me who they were and I couldn't tell them. Because I didn't know. Did you know that ever since I could hold a pencil I have been drawing you two? Can you imagine how weird I felt drawing two people I didn't even know existed? And then I find out that my mother knew who they were all along. Excuse me, not my mother. I don't even know who she is to me anymore. I don't know who _I _am anymore.

"The nerve you two must have, walking in here months ago knowing that I was your daughter and not telling me. How can you guys live with yourselves? And this"—I pulled the men's chain out of my shirt front—"is what I've believed in all my life! This gave me strength and courage when I most needed it! _This was you!"_ I pointed at Patch. I was frantic, my voice several octaves higher than it should've been. I had never felt so betrayed in my life.

"You could've taken me with you. You could've raised me yourselves. You could've been part of my life, as my parents. Instead you left me here practically for dead. You wouldn't have heard a thing about me, had you not decided to come now. Why now? Why am I suddenly so important to you? You left me here alone, with your friends who I have always seen and loved as my parents. I somehow always knew they weren't my real parents. But I didn't care because I loved them.

"_How could you! ?" _I screamed hoarsely. So suddenly that I was frozen for a few seconds, Scott and Patch came forward and grabbed me by my arms. I realized that I was shaking violently. But I didn't care. I reacted in the way that any hysterical person was: I fought and struggled. I thrashed wildly, pulling and pushing myself away from them, trying desperately to fight free. Screams escaped me all the while, so loud that I'm sure Vee heard them loud and clear.

I could no longer call them what I had called them all my life. The titles I had known them by were no longer correct technically. They weren't my parents. The baby Vee was pregnant with wasn't my sister or brother. That thought brought out another furious, frantic scream from me.

"_How could you! ?" _I screamed again, tears muting the scream considerably. They tightened their grips on my arms, and I fought even harder. "_Let me go! I hate you! Let me GO!"_

"Please!" Nora sobbed. She was watching the entire thing, hovering close, hands outstretched. Tears streamed down her cheeks, just like me. From our gray eyes. "Just let her go! You're hurting her! Stop!" She moaned over and over that she was sorry, to please forgive her, that she never should've done it.

And then Vee was in the room, yanking their arms off of me, the angriest expression on her face I'd ever seen. With nobody restraining me, I collapsed on the floor, a mess of tears, snot, and hair.

"Don't touch her!" Vee snarled, putting herself between me and whoever was reaching for me.

"Vee," I moaned. She looked at me sharply, sadness in her eyes at my use of her first name. "It's true. Who am I? What am I? Who am I really?"

Her green eyes bore into mine, the only calm ones in the room. I took her in, blonde haired and green eyed. I looked at Scott; blonde hair and blue eyes. Then I looked over at Patch and Nora. Red hair and gray eyes. Black hair and black eyes. I saw myself in my mind's eye. Black hair and gray eyes. Daughter of two things that shouldn't exist. Daughter of the two people who had set me up for the biggest lie I'd ever seen and hadn't been able to see through. How blind I had been.

I looked back into Vee's eyes, which gazed at me with sadness. "Yes, it's true. You're they're daughter, Naomi. You're the daughter of a fallen angel and a purebred Nephilim. Naomi Jarene Cipriano. They're your parents."

I let her words sink in. A sob ripped out of my throat. Then I shook my head a stood up, setting my face straight and emotionless. Though I was sure my pain was the only thing unhidden. I looked her in the eye, then the others, and then back to her. I shook my head again.

"No," I said, voice cracked and broken. "No. That's not true. _I have no parents."_

The words resonated in the air.

_I have no parents._

_I have no parents. _

_I have no parents._

Nora collapsed into Patch, and Patch let a lone tear slide down his cheek. As much as it broke my heart, I was numb to it. I turned abruptly and left them there, running up the stairs as fast as I could. I burst into my room, shutting the door behind me and leaning against it. Tears rained down my cheeks faster than I though was possible, and I furiously wiped them away. I knew what I had to do.

I quickly went to my closet, grabbing all of the journals of loose papers, and all of the ones with attached papers, then went to my desk, pulling out the other millions of papers that I had. All were pictures I'd drawn. Pictures of them. They sat there, so clean and innocent. It enraged me. I grabbed as many as I could in my hands and threw them around, grabbing the journals and throwing them around my room maniacally, screaming wordlessly and kicking them and just thrashing them about, unwilling to rip them.

Papers flew everywhere in my room, journals losing them. Each one was a picture of them, a picture that I didn't want to see. I went crazy, thrashing and screaming, "No! No, no, no!" Most of it was gibberish. I was wild, out of my mind with something, an emotion I had never experienced before. I had never had reason to. Tears continued to leak out, and my screams gradually died out to loud sobs. The papers went in the air, seeming to just hang there suspended. They flew all around the room, covering the floor and any other surface.

Eventually, I tripped over one of the journals, landing on my back on the floor. I gazed up, looking at the papers. Several drawings of the man and woman gazed back at me, all of them fluttering and flying. Two of them, two individual pictures of them landed on either side of me. One was of Nora. The other of Patch. My parents.

"Mommy," I crooned brokenly. "Daddy."

And I lay there, broken and crying on the floor, hugging the pictures to my chest as if they were the real thing.

**A/N: Well, here you are. Hope you enjoyed. Please review!**

**Ciao. **

**~Alee V. (Formerly Puckabrina Alee; now Forever Musical Alee)**


	9. Chapter 9

**Okay, I'm back. I know it took me a long while, but in truth, I was updating my other fanfics too. I know, I took a while. Time is something I don't have in abundance, as much as I'd want to. Anyway, I wentback to school on the ninth of August, sadly. My summer is over. But it was bound to happen sometime, right? Just gotta take it all in stride.**

**So, here is the next chapter of Living A Lie.**

**I still don't own Hush, Hush. ;)**

**Enjoy! And thanks to those who reviewed! I love you all! **

**Review?**

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><p>There was a moment of peace when I woke up in the middle of the night. I was under the haze, that sweet haze of blissful unawareness. Then I remembered.<p>

Memories of a few hours ago came crashing down on me like a tidal wave, deadly and suffocating. The pain was so intense that I huffed out a pained breath and clutched my chest with both hands as if I could dull the powerful ache that throbbed there. I remembered. Patch and Nora… they were….

_No._ I pushed those thoughts away forcefully, getting up on my knees and surveying my room. To say that it looked like a tornado had passed through here would be an understatement. Papers were thrown all over my room, looking completely out-of-place and messy compared to how it usually looked. Each paper had a sketch on it. Of people I wanted nothing to do with.

That pain came back up again as I thought about it, sharper than before. Then I realized that it wasn't just some pain in my chest; it was my heart. Literally, _my heart._ It felt a little something like before I get an attack. Just thinking that thought made my heart start beating faster, and I struggled to calm myself down, struggled to take deep breaths. I had to get out of here. This place was swarming with memories of the night before, and I couldn't stand to be in this place another second.

I staggered over to my closet on unsteady legs and yanked it open. I reached for the top shelf and snatched my large duffel bag down from it, opening it wide. I grabbed several pairs of jeans, several shirts, underwear, and socks. I grabbed my sneakers and tossed those in, too. The only place I could think to go to at this time in the night on a school night was Sarah's house. She was the only one I could really trust right now, the only one I could count on to be there for me, just as we had been there for each other all our lives from the moment we met. She was my unrelated sister, my best friend. She was also the only one who wouldn't freak out and call the cops if I snuck in through her window at two A.M. in the morning. It was decided; I was going to Sarah's. Then I reached several little holes in my plan.

Transportation wasn't a problem. I could run to Sarah's house and make it there in about ten to fifteen minutes tops. But I had no way to warn her, no way to tell her that I was coming over; my phone had drowned from the incident with the lake. I channeled my thoughts to my next point before I could get all riled up again. Another thing was that I was pretty sure The Corandas and Ciprianos were still downstairs; I could hear them, even from up here in my room. Either they were being really loud, or they didn't care if I could hear. But even as I listened, I knew both options weren't true. They spoke in an almost hushed way, bordering on the line between whispering and talking in a low voice.

How the heck could I hear them? Was it… super-hearing?

I shook my head, feeling a slow, but steady throb pulse in my temple. I let out a huge sigh and returned to the holes in my plan.

I didn't want to run into the adults, especially not now, but I really couldn't see another way out of the house. My gaze drifted to my window. _Unless…_

I went over to my window and pushed the curtains aside, looking out. My room was on the second floor; that meant that I was looking at about a fifteen to twenty-foot drop, window sill to ground. If I jumped out the window and landed, I'd be lucky enough to walk away with just a broken leg. It was risky, but I knew I could do it. I'd survived much worse.

So, slinging my duffel bag on one shoulder and my backpack on the other, I slid the window up as far as it would go. On the outside, there was a little ledge about four and a half inches wide. I put one foot on it, grabbing the window pane for support, and hefted myself out, my other leg still hanging inside my room. The cool night air—well, dusk air, now—felt nice on my flushed skin. I stood there for a second, closing my eyes and standing twenty feet above the ground, nothing but a thin little ledge keeping me from going _splat!_ on the floor.

Sighing, I opened my eyes again and looked down at the ground below me. It seemed so far down from where I was on my window ledge. Vertigo hit me lightly and I shook my head to chase it off. I wasn't afraid of heights. Not many people were. We were just afraid of the fall…

And with that, I grabbed the shutters above my window from the roof and used my other foot that wasn't on the ledge to slide the window shut. Now that both of my feet were on the ledge, I was dangerously close to slipping, but before that could happen, I grabbed the edge of the roof with my other hand. All I had left to do was jump. Jump and land on the ground below me. Why couldn't I have gotten a room with a tree next to the window?

I swallowed my fear the best I could, taking in a deep breath. I ran through little thoughts in my head. _Think light,_ I told myself. _Feathers, air, paper, sunshine, kisses._

I didn't know what caused me to think that last one, but it was working. I could feel my fear slowly ebbing away. It wasn't gone completely, but just enough that I knew I could do this no problem. I took one last shuddering breath…

And jumped straight into empty air.

My stomach flew straight up to my throat, and the second I landed on the ground—on my feet, mind you—I felt the shock of the impact straight into my bones. By some deep down instinct, I rolled into the fall, absorbing some of the shock and stopping in a crouch. My bags were with me, I'd left a note in between my packing, and I had nothing else to do here anymore.

So with a heavy heart, clad in only thin sweats and a camisole, and bare-footed, I ran through the streets at my usual speed, not bothering to care when I stepped on something sharp or some lone early dusk walker stared at me when I passed by. In my pajamas and bare feet, I ran five miles to the only sanctuary I had.

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><p>Vee Coranda had always loved her adoptive daughter. She had always thought of Naomi Jarene as her daughter and nothing less, with the love and affection of a mother. The young girl had always brought her joy and happiness and love; she had put even more meaning into her life. So it was unimaginable, the feeling that she felt pacing in front of the couch while her baby was up in her room, tortured and in pain. She hated the helpless feeling that threatened to overwhelm her, constantly letting her know that there was nothing she could do to ease Naomi's pain.<p>

"I never wanted this to happen," Nora sobbed. She was sitting on Vee's couch, next to her husband, Patch, who seemed to be struggling not to go into a similar state like his wife. Nora dropped her head into her hands, sobbing harder, though trying not to be loud. They didn't want to disturb Naomi upstairs.

Everyone had heard her rampage upstairs. Even Vee whose hearing wasn't as heightened as the others in the room. She had heard the papers flying around the room, the noises they made when they collided with each other or crashed into something else in Naomi's room. They had all heard her wordless shrieks of rage and pain, the meaningless words she'd spouted unintentionally when yelling and screaming hadn't been enough. They'd heard the thump of her body hitting the floor; Scott had almost run up there to check on her to see if she was alright. Vee had held him back. She knew that Naomi needed to be by herself at the moment.

And everyone had heard her broken croons.

_Mommy._

_Daddy._

And that was the last thing they'd heard from up there in a long while. It had only been about two and a half hours, though. Nora and Patch hadn't stopped being upset, especially Nora. She was a mess of salty tears, tangled hair, and snot in Patch's arms. Patch had let out a few tears in the beginning, but he was trying to be strong now. Maybe because he saw the murderous look in Vee's eyes.

Vee was furious with the Ciprianos. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure that out. She paced angrily back and forth, one hand on her hip, the other on her chin, looking down at the floor with a frown on her face as if the hard-wood floor held all the answers to the universe and she could scowl the answers out of it.

"It's not about what you wanted or didn't want," she snapped at Nora. "It's about what happened. You just broke that girl's heart. Crushed it into millions of little pieces—,"

"You don't think we know that?" Nora shot back, her own anger flaring up. "How do you think I feel? I just broke the trust of my own daughter! Everything she said was true. We weren't there; we were _never _there! I barely had three and a half months to hold her at all! They just kept coming and coming, and we had to hide her. We had no choice. No matter how much I wanted to keep her with us, we couldn't. They would've killed her.

"But I wanted her. She was always mine. My baby, my life, my everything. She was so tiny, so fragile, and so beautiful; she was perfect and she was mine. But now she's not, all because of what I did!" Nora broke down again, hiding her face in her hands again.

"Nora, it's not your fault—," Patch tried to tell her, but she wouldn't listen.

"No, it is my fault! I was the one who had the idea to give her to them. It was my idea! We could've just done what you had said and hid her, but instead I just had to be stubborn and send her away!"

"Your stubbornness is what saved her from a life of danger and hiding. She would have never seen the sun, would've never known that there was more to life than just surviving and getting through the day. She got to do things she never could have done with us. She's grown up healthy and strong and beautiful, all because of your idea. You did what any mother would've done. It's okay," Patch enveloped her in his arms, resting his chin on her head.

"I'm gonna go check on her," Vee said at last, a nagging feeling tugging at her mind. Without waiting for a response, she quietly climbed up the stairs, needing to make sure her adoptive daughter was okay.

When she got to the door, she paused, one hand fisted in front of the door, poised to knock. Right as she did, she heard a loud smack/slam from inside the room and she held her breath while she froze, surprised. She stood frozen for all of ten seconds, waiting for another noise. She thought she heard the muted thud of a faraway impact, but played it off as nothing. Vee knocked on the door and walked inside.

Only to find that the room was empty of Naomi. Vee's eyes widened as she did a full 360 turn, confirming her fears. Despite herself, she called out, "Naomi? Naomi, where are you?"

She searched all over, trying not to step on the pictures littering the floor. She looked in the closet and the sight of it sent a dose of fear into her. The closet looked completely trashed, clothes spilling out of drawers, strewn on the floor, hanging off of their hangers. Vee looked up, hoping against hope that—

"_Dammit._"

The duffel was gone. This meant…

"Scott! Get up here, now!"

There was a stampede of footsteps after her words, but then all the adults spilled into the room, almost as if expecting to see Naomi passed out on the floor from another attack. Or dead.

"What happened?" Scott asked, coming towards her.

"She's gone," Vee said. "And she took her duffel with her. She's got clothes, and it looks like a pair of shoes, but that's it! She's gone, and I don't know where! We have to find her!"

"Wait a minute," Scott said, sounding like he was struggling against his own panic. "Let's call her cell, first. We know her; she wouldn't leave without her cellphone. She's rational."

"Not in this state of mind! She's just gotten the shock of a lifetime. What if she isn't thinking straight? What if she's out there with nowhere to go, no one to trust—,"

Scott brought his hand down on her mouth, cutting her off. "I'm calling her cell."

Vee nodded, taking a deep breath when he took his hand away. She watched him as he pulled out his phone and dialed Naomi's number. She watched him as he waited for Naomi to pick up, and then drew his phone away from his ear, staring into the phone in confusion.

"What?" Nora breathed.

"It didn't even ring. Either her phone is off, or she ignored the call the second I pushed the button." Scott looked over at Vee, the concern and worry and overall _panic_ in his eyes mirroring her own.

"Didn't she say she had her cellphone in her back pocket when she went out into the woods?" Patch said quietly. Even still, his voice echoed in the room, as if Naomi were the only thing that could fill it; without her, the room was empty, hollow.

Nora ran out of the room, and Vee followed her. They stopped in the bathroom, and Nora had something in her hands. Naomi's phone. Broken. Vee and Nora slowly turned their heads to look at each other and their gazes met. Without even needing to say anything, they both ran to Naomi's room again at the same time.

When they got inside, Scott was holding something in his hands. It was actually three of Naomi's sketches, two of them individual and the other one of two people. He was staring down at them with a guilty, heart-broken expression. Vee walked over to him, looking at the pictures he was holding.

The two individual drawings were of Nora and Patch. They had blotches on them though, as if they'd gotten wet by water. Or tears. Nora's chin was distorted, running down the page, and Patch's right eye was just one faded out spot with rings of pencil lead around it. That was what she saw at first. Then she saw the other picture.

This one was of… Scott and Vee. They were standing together, looking straight head, and they were smiling. Their eyes were clearly expressive, even in sketched form, exuding happiness like rays of the sun. Scott had an arm on Vee's shoulders, holding her close and his other hand was on her very round, very pregnant stomach. Vee stood with her arm wrapped around Scott's waist, her other hand over Scott's on her stomach.

"What is this?" Vee whispered, unable to make sense of the emotions running around inside of her.

Scott didn't say anything; just pointed to a little paragraph of words to the side of the picture. Vee read them, the brew of emotions continuing to grow—and slide over to the negative end of the spectrum.

_Mom and Dad,_

_I asked you guys if you had any pictures of you guys when Mom was pregnant with me. You guys said no. That they got lost, and you could never find them again. So, I made one. I hope I was close to the real thing._

_Love,_

_Naomi J. _

"Oh." Vee clasped a hand over her mouth to keep from saying other things. The feeling that overwhelmed her was indescribable. She felt shame, regret, guilt, and heart-break among other things. Vee could remember when Naomi had tried to show this to them. She'd been eight. Vee had been in the kitchen cooking, in a bad mood for something she couldn't even remember anymore. Naomi had skipped into the kitchen, waving the paper around like a winning lottery ticket. She had tried to show Vee, but she'd had no patience for whatever her adoptive daughter wanted to show her and had snapped. She'd sent Naomi up to her room to go play or draw. Naomi had looked hurt, but she was angrier than anything else.

Vee now felt the full impact of just how bad a parent can feel when they deny their child or children. Truth be told, she never felt anything so painful in her life. Especially when Naomi trusted none of them now, and was missing from the house.

"Vee?"

Vee looked up at Nora.

"What's that?" Nora was pointing to something on the back of the picture of Vee and Scott. Scott turned it over. There was a single name on the back, sloppily written, but Naomi's handwriting nonetheless:

_Sarah._

The air seemed to leave Vee and Scott at the same time. If anything, Patch and Nora looked even more distressed. The Corandas knew what this meant, but they didn't.

"Who's Sarah?" Nora pressed anxiously. "What does that mean? Vee, answer me! Scott?"

"Should we go get her?" Scott asked Vee, ignoring Nora entirely.

Vee shook her head, hand over her heart as she walked over to the window. Those sounds, that slam—it all made sense now, the things she'd heard.

"She's all right," Vee whispered, as if to herself, looking out the window at the forest and the street. "She's okay. She's all right."

* * *

><p>Running through the streets and neighborhoods of the darkest part of Maine went by like a blur the second I ran off my front lawn. Everything around me ceased to exist as I gave into the instinct to run, to shed off my more humane thoughts and just let go. Usually I had a destination. This was one of those times.<p>

I reached Sarah's neighborhood in a record time of thirteen minutes and twelve seconds. Her house wasn't that hard to recognize; it was the only house with a large weeping-willow tree in the front lawn. Every year in the winter months, Sarah, her family, and I all decorated it in Christmas lights, and then took a picture with it afterwards. From the time I met her when I was five to now, we had eleven pictures of the both of us standing in front of that weeping-willow, one arm wrapped around the other, heads tilted together until they touched. Those were the kinds of memories I never wanted to let go of. Memories I would keep with me forever in my heart and soul.

I didn't stop running when I spotted her house. I didn't stop running when I reached her front lawn. I didn't stop running until I was in her backyard, standing below her window on the ground. I grabbed a rock from the floor—her dogs loved to kick them out of the flower pots—and softly chucked it at her window. Knowing her, she wouldn't wake up, so when I got no response whatsoever, I sighed and put my hands on my hips, thinking.

What could I do? There weren't any trees for me to climb back here. No foot or hand holds for me to scale the wall. That only left me with two options: Knock on the front door and face Mr. and Mrs. Johnson, or jump up to the window. Sarah's window had a little balcony-like ledge that was big enough for me to sit on and dangle my feet over. Definitely big enough for me to crouch on, I would think.

Besides the fact that Mr. and Mrs. Johnson would call my par—I mean, Mr. and Mrs. Coranda, I really didn't want to wake them up for something as simple as crashing in their daughter's bedroom. Come on, I was best friends with Sarah; while this behavior wasn't like me, they knew I had no limits when it came to the really important things. Which left me with my only other option….

Not only was it not possible—it was insane! If I so much as missed my mark by an inch, I'd wind up on the ground with something broken or sprained, waking up everybody in the house, and they'd call the Corandas for sure! And I'd bet a whole month's paycheck—not that I had a job—that Those Who Shall Not Be Named were still there. But… Those Who Shall Not Be Named had inhuman skills. Or so they said. Did… I have them?

Only one way to find out.

Securing my bags on my shoulders, I lithely crouched down low to the ground, preparing to spring. Then, with all my strength, I leapt, arms stretched out to grab onto something just in case I missed my mark. But instead of missing anything, I landed right on the ledge soundlessly, stealthy as any cat jumping onto a low table. And it hadn't been any effort at all. Jaw hanging open, I looked back at the ground. I was still panting from my run, my hair a wild tangle around my face and shoulders, still barefoot and in my pajamas. It was a good thing I would only be seeing Sarah.

I knocked as silently as I could on her window without waking anyone else up. In less than a minute later, she was at the window, staring at me with a shocked expression. Under more normal circumstances I would've laughed. But there was nothing happy or normal about today. Or my life, now.

Sarah slid open the window, talking even before she had opened it all the way. "Naomi? What the hell are you doing here? What happened? Are you okay? Why do you look like that? _Tell_ me you didn't _run_ here!"

"Can I come in first?" I huffed, still panting. Sarah nodded emphatically, moving away from the window. I climbed in, dumping my duffel bag and my backpack on the floor on either side of me.

"Oh," Sarah said when she caught sight of my bags.

"Sarah, can I—," She cut off before I could ask.

"Do you really need to ask?" She smiled at me in the darkness of her room. "Yes, you can stay. For as long as you need to. I don't care, and neither will my parents. And you know my brothers. They'll be delighted that—and I quote—'Sarah's hot friend' will be staying over. Even Jonas says that—and he's twenty-three."

A breath I hadn't realized I was holding flew out of me like a gust of wind. I was relieved, happy, and grateful to Sarah Leann Johnson, bestest friend in the entire universe. I could not describe how relieved I felt, how grateful and thankful I was in that moment to have Sarah in my life.

"Really?" I asked. "No questions asked?"

"Well, I do want to know why you're here instead of at home with your parents," Sarah told me, shrugging.

I nodded emphatically, and then my mood darkened. "Oh, I'll tell you everything alright," I said in a low voice. "Starting with this: Vee and Scott Coranda are not my birth parents."

And so it began. I told Sarah everything—literally everything. From going to the lake in the woods and dying, to running up the stairs away from Those Who Shall Remain Unnamed and Vee and Scott. And everything in between; from kissing Bryan and Bryan bringing me back to life, to being the daughter of a fallen angel and a Nephil. I trusted Sarah. She could keep her mouth shut when she needed to. She would never utter a word about this to anyone.

"So, let me get this straight." I nodded for her to continue. "You went to a lake in the woods; something dragged you under and drowned you, then Bryan saved you, also managing to save your life and bring you back from the dead. And then you kiss him and apparently he was such a good kisser that you passed out and he was gone when you woke up. At home you completely broke down in some sort of panic attack and then they dropped the bomb on you. By first telling you that they weren't human and then telling you that your real parents were two things that shouldn't exist in the first place?"

I nodded. That just about covered it.

"Well. That's better than how my parents told me that Mom was pregnant with the twins. You had some face time; I just got an 'Oh, by the way, Mom's pregnant.'"

I laughed. Sarah smiled at the sight. "I knew that was gonna make you laugh, I knew it! That's what I like to see. Don't worry, 'Omi. If they hunt you down, you can always hide in the tree house. Good knows nobody looks up there."

By now, we were already lying down on her bed, hip to hip. The soft glow of her phone resting on her stomach illuminating a patch of the ceiling.

"I just don't know what I'm gonna do, though," I admitted. "I can't stay here forever. And we have school tomorrow. You get dropped off by your parents; they're bound to see me then! Especially when I don't have a car to drop you off here again. And I'm going to run out of clothes eventually. Seeing them is inevitable. I'm just trying to prolong it."

"Well, you could ask Bryan to drop us off and tell my parents that you had car trouble. It's pretty believable anyway," Sarah added, and I knew without looking that she was rolling her eyes. It was true; my car was a piece of junk.

"Hmm," I said. "Clothes?" I needed to address as many problems as I could that were fixable.

"Sneak in as much as you can to get more, or wash the ones you have here. Trust me, nobody's going to notice who's clothes they are. I do almost all the washing anyway. Laundry is my family's kryptonite."

"Okay. School?"

"Uh, maybe I can tell Mom and Dad that we're carpooling?"

"Sure," I said, unconvinced. "What about Those Who Shall Not Be Named seeing me when I go to sneak out more clothes? Or what if Mo—I mean, Vee and Scott come to the school and ask about me? Make me come home?"

Sarah's face turned thoughtful in the darkness. "Do you really think they'll do that?" she asked finally. "I mean, your parents—I mean, Mr. and Mrs. C seem like pretty understanding people. I think they'll leave you alone for a while. A week or two at the most. Then they'll start asking questions."

I nodded, having thought of that myself. Sarah suddenly snuggled up closer to me on her side.

"Don't worry about it," she said soothingly. "I'm here, and I've got your back. I'm here, and I'll always be here. Just go to sleep. Everything will be better in the morning, I promise. I'll make you okay, okay?"

I smiled at the double use of her words. "Okay," I whispered back. I hugged her hard, pressing my face into her shoulder for a few seconds. I almost broke down right there. I have never done a thing to deserve Sarah. Not a single thing. She was loyal to a fault, fierce and protective of those she loves and cares about, and the bestest friend you could ever have. I was so blessed and lucky to have her in my life.

"Love you," she whispered. She brought the coverlets of her bed over us, looping her arm through mine comfortingly.

"Love you, too."

And like a hawk that had circled its prey from high above in the sky, sleep swooped down and took us within seconds.

_~000~_

_Riiiiiing! Riiiiiing! Pick up your phone! Riiiiiing! Riiiiiing…_

"Ungh!" I groaned into the pillow. It smelled faintly of strawberry-mango perfume. Wait—I don't wear strawberry-mango perfume…

I sat up as the memories of last night hit me again. It wasn't as forceful as before, but it still hurt. I looked over at Sarah, who was on her knees on the floor in an attempt to grab her phone off her nightstand after falling straight out of bed. Her hand groped the nightstand until she found the phone, flipping it open and answering the caller.

"Hello?" she asked, her greeting muffled by a yawn. I heard the other person reply, a series of squeaks and babbles. Sarah's eyes widened. "Uh, hey, Mr. and Mrs. Coranda," she said cheerfully. For my benefit, I knew. My own eyes widened, and I mouthed _Speaker_ to her.

She hit the button and held the phone between our heads, so we could both listen.

"Sorry to bother you so early, Sarah, but it's important," Vee's voice said, sounding strained. She must not have found my note, then. Or if she had, then she didn't know what it meant. I highly doubted that.

"Sure, what's up?"

"Is Naomi there with you?"

Sarah was silent, looking at me for confirmation. I was about to shake my head no, when Vee talked again.

"Sarah, is Naomi there with you? Tell me, please."

Sarah stared at me, and then spoke into the phone, her tone terse and stern. "She doesn't wish to speak to you, Mrs. Coranda."

I heard Vee sigh, a mixture of relief and resignation. "Just—just tell her that we're sorry, will you?"

"She can hear you," Sarah said, still stern.

"Really? Am I on speaker?"

Neither of us answered her. She took that as her answer.

"Naomi? Baby, please talk to me. I didn't want to keep that hidden from you. I wanted them to tell you. It wasn't my secret to tell, I knew, but I wanted you to know. I made them tell you because you needed to hear it from them. Please, come back. I can kick them out, if you want. You won't ever have to see them again, or hear their names, or anything. We can go back to normal. Just like things were before."

Rage flooded through me in that one instant. How could she even say that? After all that they told me, after all that I've just discovered, she thinks everything can just _go back to normal?_ Normal and I are now perfect strangers. Normal and I have never been all that close, anyway. I couldn't believe the words coming out of her mouth.

"Normal, huh?" I said without thinking. "I cannot believe you just said all of that. What difference would it make if you kicked them out? Out of the house or out of my life? I already know about all of this. I can't just forget about everything they told me, about who I am and what my real parentage is! I won't be able to look at you and Scott the same way ever again, I won't ever be comfortable in the house that I have called _home_ my whole life, and I won't ever be able to live life the way it was before any of this ever happened, because guess what? It did!"

Vee was quiet on the phone after I finished my rant. It felt good to say those things, even if it caused her pain. Right now, hurting her feelings was the last thing on my mind. I knew Sarah could tell, because she patted me proudly and soothingly on my back.

"I'm sorry," Vee said finally, her voice a faint whisper. "I guess I just thought…"

"Thought what?" I snapped when she trailed off. "That things could just go back to normal between us and you two could go back to playing the parents? Nuh-uh. Nice try, but that's not gonna happen. I can't do this right now. I need some time to sort things out for myself. Don't try to come after me. Don't try to bring me home. Because if you do, I might hate you. And I don't want to hate you."

It was harsh, and I knew it, but it was the truth. I would deal with things as they came. I had a right to be angry, to not want to see them. I probably didn't have a right to hate them, and I didn't, but it could happen. That thought scared me.

"Wait, you're not coming back?" Vee asked, alarm in her voice as if the thought that I wasn't going back to the house after I was just told that she wasn't the real woman who gave birth to me hadn't even crossed her mind. Wow.

"Naomi, no, please we can sort this out. Please, just—,"

But I didn't get to find out what I had to "just" because before she could say anything, I snapped the phone shut. I handed it to Sarah, who had watched this whole exchange with proud and careful wide eyes.

"Well," she said carefully, "it's actually time to get dressed. Guess she woke us up in time, cause I don't think my alarm clock is set…"

I let out a breathless laugh, and then stood up to get clothes from my duffel.

"Are you gonna tell Bryan what happened?" Sarah asked from behind me. "You know he's gonna ask you why you need him to drop you off over here."

I sighed as I slipped a clean, new shirt over my head. "I don't know. I suppose I will… but I'll leave a few parts out. You know, about my parentage and what I might be because of said parentage. I'll tell him the truth about the Corandas not being my birth parents, but only if he asks me. And I won't and can't tell about fallen angel-slash-Nephilim business. You can't tell, either, got it?"

I knew without looking that Sarah was rolling her eyes. I could practically feel it.

"Who am I going to tell? We don't have friends," she said, and then paused to amend that sentence. "Well, we don't have _real_ friends. Dependable friends, trustworthy friends, friends who don't gossip every little thing that they hear."

I sighed. I had to admit: she was right.

"I know, I know. But still. No one can know about… Them. I took a really big risk in telling you, but you're my sister. If anyone could keep any of my secrets, it's you."

I turned, finally, just in time to catch Sarah beaming at me. The sight was even funnier because of the fact that she was hopping in place, trying to get her legs through her pants. I laughed when she almost face-planted with the floor.

"Come on, we still have school to go to."

And with that, we finished dressing in comfortable silence.

_~000~_

"Good morning, boys!"

Five faces looked up at me in shock. Clearly, they had not expected me to be in their house at all. Not that I could blame them; when you're a guy in a house with only two girls, I guess you'd feel free to eat cereal in your boxers. But when your younger/older sister's friend comes over—and you have it in your head that the friend is hot—you get a little self-conscious.

Sarah has five brothers. Two younger ones and three older ones. The twins, Jessie and Jackson, were twelve years old, both two of the most mischievous tweens I've ever met. Their sweet brown eyes and light brown hair that fell into their faces endearingly did nothing to charm me into believing they weren't up to trouble every time I met up with them. Their little crushes on me didn't actually keep them from involving me in their shenanigans. Unfortunately.

Daniel—aka, Danny—was seventeen, just a year older than Sarah and me. He had his mother's blue eyes and his father's black hair. He had an easy smile, one that made you want to trust him immediately. He kinda had a crush on me, though his was easily contained, much more preferable than the twins, who don't even bother to _attempt _to hide it. Besides; Sarah had explained that I was dating Bryan.

Andy was nineteen; athletic, very studious, and popular by almost everyone, he was the exact image of the American boy. He was broad in the shoulders, muscular but not too muscular, and he had a six-pack. The only reason I knew that was because I went on a trip with the Johnsons this summer to go surfing in California. All boys were shirtless—even twenty-three year-old Jonas.

Jonas was in college. He went to the University that wasn't more than a three-hour drive from the house. He was tall, just like his other brothers, with brown hair and brown eyes, much like the rest of his family apart from his mother and Danny. Jonas didn't really have a crush on me; he was just bashful enough to know that I was a girl and he was a boy in his boxers and that was not okay. He was the shy and thoughtful type, but he was also temperamental when the others got on his nerves.

All boys were fiercely protective of their only sister—a fact that made me proud to know them. If I wasn't there at Sarah's side, at least I knew that they would be. Er, most if the time.

"Naomi!" they all exclaimed, quickly moving around the opposite side of the counter, away from me. The twins were dressed, and so was Danny, but Jonas was a different story. He was only wearing a crumpled t-shirt and his boxers, shoveling Cheerios into his face. At least, he was, until I came into the room.

"That's my name," I quipped. "Don't wear it out." And completely out of character, I winked at all five boys. I was feeling strangely cheerful and at ease around the boys. It was refreshing, because they didn't know what was going on. They didn't have that dark cloud hanging over them, ever everything. They made me breathe easier, feel lighter.

"What are you doing here?" Jackson asked, asking the question on everybody's mind.

I pretended to pout, deciding to play this game as far as I could. I crossed my arms and looked down, looking sad. "What do you mean?" I asked, sounding hurt. "Aren't you guys happy to see me?"

"What? Oh, yeah! Of course!" Jackson and Jessie scrambled over the counter, fighting each other to get to me faster, and threw their arms around me in a sandwiched hug. I laughed, perking up, and hugged them back. They each came up to the top of my rib cage, though I knew that it wouldn't last for long; especially if they were anything like their older siblings.

"Hey, Naomi," Danny said softly. I looked up at him, smiling sincerely at him.

"Hey, Danny," I replied. "How have you been?" I made to move over to the counter, but as soon as I did, the twins wrapped a single arm around my waist, holding onto me fast. Not only could I not move, but I was pretty sure their hands were moving towards places they should _not_ have gone.

"Hey, hey," I said, disentangling myself from the twins, "let's not do anything we're not supposed to, alright?"

The twins smiled, but said nothing. I raised an eyebrow, and they both took off somewhere else in the house, knowing that they would've gotten in trouble.

I went over to the counter, leaning on it with both arms. Andy and Jonas stepped back behind Danny, and I realized that Andy was in his boxers, too.

"Does your mama let you guys run around here half-naked all the time?" I asked, leaning over the counter as if to look. They leaned away from me, and I laughed.

"What are you really doing here, Naomi?" Andy asked, sounding a little irritated. Not at me, but because I was there and he thought I was hot and he wasn't wearing any pants.

I shrugged, sitting on one of the stools at the counter. "I needed a break from home, so I came here."

"Last night?" Jonas said incredulously.

"No, last week," I said sarcastically, smirking at him with narrowed eyes. "Actually, it was this morning."

"Okay, fair enough," Danny said, glaring at Jonas. Then he turned to me, his face softening considerably. "You just missed Sarah, just so you know. She and my mom just left."

"Really?" I turned to look at the doorway, feigning disbelief as if I really hadn't known that I had missed the ride with Sarah and Mrs. Johnson. "I thought I heard a car engine! Dammit! Now I don't have a ride."

Hopefully by now, you have caught on to my plan.

"I'll take you if you want," Danny offered, moving away to take his bowl to the sink.

"Or I could," Andy said, sounding jealous that his younger brother got to take his younger sister's 'hot' friend to school. "You don't wanna let _him_ drive you, Naomi," he continued, almost sneering now. "He could kill you before you even made it out of the driveway! He almost killed me and Jonas yesterday, and we hadn't even started the car yet! He's got issues with driving, I tell you."

Danny opened his mouth to defend himself, but I beat him to it.

"And you don't?" I raised an eyebrow, but smiled at Andy to soften the blow. "I think Danny can handle keeping me alive for a twenty-minute drive."

"Of course I can," Danny interjected. "Especially since I'm carrying precious cargo." He looked over at me, and I chuckled. I was hardly precious cargo.

Danny grabbed his keys and we headed out the door. I climbed into his car, and we drove off towards the school. He was only a year older than Sarah and me, so he went to the same school, but went in five minutes later than we did. He was a junior and we were sophomores. We had different schedules.

Twenty minutes later, Danny parked the car in a decent parking space at the school. Students were walking this way and that, greeting friends and walking into the school. I was fairly on time, thanks to Danny's driving, and I turned to thank him for the ride.

"Thanks, Danny," I grinned at him. "I owe you one."

He waved my words away with one hand. "Nah," he shook his head. "It's okay. Just driving you was enough. Besides, I get to school earlier, which means I get to study for that history test in fourth period." He paused, seeming to think about something. "Will I see you after school at our house?"

I nodded. "Yeah. You won't have to drive me, though. I'll ask my boyfriend to drive me and Sarah to the house."

"Oh, okay." Danny looked mildly disappointed, but still smiled nonetheless. "See ya, then."

"See ya," I quickly kissed him on the cheek and climbed out of the car. Danny got out and walked in the opposite direction, towards his friends on the other side of the school. Out of all of Sarah's brothers, I liked Danny best. He was the one who always understood, who never questioned what was what, and I liked that about him.

I had been so wrapped up in my thoughts that I hadn't realized I was already to the school's front steps. I didn't lift my foot up, and I ended up tripping. I had my eyes shut, and waited for gravity to introduce the concrete steps and me on a more personal level—but instead of face-planting on the school steps, warm arms caught me from behind, holding me up and keeping me from falling.

I knew those arms. They were warm and familiar, and I relaxed into them, letting them help me upright. I turned around with a rueful smile on my face and was about to thank Bryan—but the words stuck in my throat when I saw who it was who had their arms around me.

Keith.

I pulled out of his embrace, putting some distance between us. He smiled at me, the piercing through his left eyebrow glinting in the early sun. My heart beat faster, and a sharp pain slashed across it.

"Hey," he said, his smile still in place despite the glare I was trying not to give him. I had a feeling I wasn't succeeding as well as I should've been. "Might wanna be more careful when you walk. Wouldn't want to fall and hurt that pretty face of yours." His hand twitched as though he wanted to touch my face, but he stuffed it in his pocket.

I nodded at him in thanks, and turned to walk away. I could already feel my hands getting slick with sweat; I discreetly wiped them on my jeans. I had hoped that Keith would give up once I turned away, but he followed me into the school, so close behind me that I could feel his body heat emanating from him on part of my back where my backpack didn't cover.

"So, how've you been? Do any races lately? I remember how much you liked running when… I was here before." I heard the hesitation in his voice when he mentioned remembering me. Another lance of pain stabbed at my heart, though I couldn't fathom why this time. It couldn't be because he actually remembered those five months when we'd been together with fondness… could it?

In answer to his question, I shrugged, ignoring the pain in my heart. So what if he thought back on our relationship with fondness? It was his fault that we'd broken up anyway. He was the one who went and kissed another girl behind my back….

So why was my heart aching just because he remembered us?

"Is that a yes, or a no? Or a sort of?"

I put up three fingers for the third option.

"Ah, Naomi," he said, chuckling. The way he said my name, intimately, as if my name was a spoken caress, sent shivers up my spine. "Still as quiet as ever."

He was silent for a few moments while we walked, heading to my locker. Then he said, "Who was that guy you were driving with?"

I gave him a withering look that said, _Is it any of your business?_

He leaned away from me with his hands up in surrender, almost knocking into a girl behind him. Keith was smirking, the jerk. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry. I was just asking. No need to bite my head off."

I bit back a smile, fighting it as hard as I could. Still, the side of my mouth hitched up by a fraction of a centimeter. Keith noticed though, and he grinned, almost as if in triumph. My mouth went up higher, in a small half-smile.

We were almost to my locker, just a hallway from it, when Keith broke the peace.

"So, I was wondering if you wanted to go to the Enzo's tonight. You still like those little cookie things they made? I'll buy you as many as you want. Just come with me."

The smile on my face dropped away immediately, and my eyes grew dark. I knew because I could see it in Keith's eyes. He started pleading with me, then.

"Please, Naomi. I just want to get a chance to talk, to catch up, to be friends, for God's sake! I know that I hurt you, but please. Just give me a chance to make it right. That's all I'm asking for! I want to be your friend; I wanna be close to you, to be able to talk to you, and joke around. Just like old times—is that so bad?"

That was obviously the wrong thing to say. Things could never be like old times, because I had moved on. I had Bryan, a sweet and caring boy who made me feel happy and whole. I couldn't go back to the way things were with Keith; who knew what he would do if I gave him another chance at my heart? Would he cheat again? Humiliate me? Something worse? I wasn't going to find out.

But there was that feeling again… that feeling that I was losing the will to say no, to hold on to myself and stay away from him. I felt _tired_ of this routine, of having to say no again and again. It was so simple to just say yes and go with him to wherever it was he wanted. It would be so easy to just give in. After all, we'd just be friends, right? I wouldn't let anything more than that happen. We would just talk; catch up with each other, just like he said. Then I could relax just a little more…

I opened my mouth. An image of Bryan's face, smiling at me, flashed though my mind's eye, and I snapped my mouth shut with a gust of air. I shook my head, laughing soundlessly under my breath, and then sped up my pace to get to my locker. Bryan would be waiting there. Bryan would always be there for me. I wouldn't do this to him. _He_ was the one I wanted. Keith was the one I left behind. The one I could never want again.

Keith had apparently kept up with me, and when I arrived at my locker, hair slightly astray, I went directly into Bryan's waiting arms. I pressed my face up into the crook of his neck, breathing him in. His scent cleared up the fog in my mind, gave me my strength back, and I felt alive and vibrant under his touch. Warm, safe, and familiar. _Bryan._

"Hey, hun," Bryan murmured in my ear. "You're okay."

Those two words brought back a monsoon of memories.

The lake.

The tentacle.

Bryan saving me.

Dying.

Bryan bringing me back to life.

And our kiss.

All of those memories caused me to hold him tighter, and he responded by tightening his arms around me protectively and murmuring sweet nothings in my ear. We were encased in a sort of cocoon, a safe world of our own with just the two of us in that place and time. I turned my face inward, and so did he, his nose skimming my skin from the hollow beneath my ear to my cheek. He rose a little higher, and for one instant his lips hovered a hairbreadth above mine. Then he brought them down on mine in a smooth movement, kissing me in a way that made me hunger for more.

Electricity seemed to course between us just by the interaction of touching by our lips. My whole body felt electrified, and the feeling of his warm, soft lips did things to my stomach, heartbeat, and head; I was light-headed, my stomach was flipping, and my heartbeat was wildly erratic. Not that I minded. Not at all.

The kiss lasted all of three seconds, but it felt like three hours. And I wanted nothing more than to do it again. But I remembered where I was, and who I had walked away from, and I knew I couldn't. Not now.

I twisted in his arms, turning toward my locker, and opened it, stuffing in books and taking some out. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Keith, staring at me and staring at Bryan. By his clenched jaw and fists, I knew he'd seen the whole thing. Thankfully, the school had not. As far as I could tell. I closed my locker and leaned my forehead against it for a second, and then straightened up and looked over at Keith.

"Sorry, Keith," I told him, not sounding sorry in the least. "But I have plans tonight. I just can't do that kind of thing so soon, ya know?"

I didn't look at him to see him nod or shake his head. Instead, I looked at the floor, letting my hair fall like a curtain in front of my face. I reached over with the arm that wasn't carrying books and slipped my small hand into Bryan's. He took it, give it a gentle squeeze, and a rush of electricity shot up my arm, my pulse quickening again.

"Okay, NJ," Keith said, "maybe some other time." And then he smiled and winked smugly at me, walking away with the air of someone who had just won a hard bet.

I had stiffened at the nickname. I couldn't remember the last time Keith had ever called me that. I didn't even remember that he had even made that nickname for me! Actually, whenever that nickname was brought back to memory—when Keith and I were dating—he just called me New Jersey. Rarely ever NJ.

"Don't call me that," I muttered to myself under my breath. I looked over at Bryan, who had stared at me. I flashed him a small smile, but he didn't return it. Uh-oh.

"So Keith can call you NJ?" he said. He let go of my hand and crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against my locker. The look he gave me caused a small spark of defensiveness to start inside of me.

"No," I said, my voice low and warning. "He's never called me that before. Usually it was New Jersey, but never NJ."

Why I was being that honest, I didn't know, but I figured honesty would be better than lying.

"I thought you didn't like NJ," Bryan pressed, looking me in the eye.

"I don't. I never allowed it. I only have a few nicknames—and most people don't even know them."

"Why does he keep asking you out? He knows about us, doesn't he? No, forget that; who is he? Why is he so bent on getting you to go out with him?"

I sighed and chewed on my bottom lip, contemplating what I should tell him. I still had to tell him about what happened last night… And he deserved to know about my former relationship with Keith. After all, Bryan was my boyfriend, and I cared about him a lot. He deserved full disclosure.

"Keith and I, we—uhm, used to—"

The bell cut me off, and students started to scramble in a frenzy to get to class. I looked at Bryan apologetically. "I'll explain everything later. There's something I need to tell you, anyway."

Bryan nodded, and hesitated, then came closer and pecked me on the lips. It lasted all of one second, but electricity still ran through me; my heartbeat still went crazy, and my stomach still flipped over. I smiled stupidly at him, and he flashed me a small grin before walking away to his own class. A fiery blush came to my cheeks, and I coughed a bit before walking to my own class, the memory of his kiss still lingering on my lips.

First period passed by agonizingly slow. All I could think about was Bryan. Bryan and Keith. What I had felt with Keith had been wild and crazy, something I hadn't been able to control. Going back there scared me more than anything else would; I hadn't been in control of myself. Literally. I had been an entirely different person, then, out of control and without free will. Everything that we had done had been on Keith's terms, and occasionally mine. I hadn't minded; I hadn't cared. I had only wanted to be with him, wanted him to want me, too. Our relationship had been wild, and sort of one-sided, but it hadn't mattered to me. I had honestly cared about him. In the beginning, I guess he had cared about me, too; but then he'd gotten bored with me around month four and a half.

What I had with Bryan was completely different. I was in control of myself. I didn't have to follow anybody's rules. I felt something when we touched; something that made my heart race, my face flush, and my stomach flip. I felt warm and comfortable with Bryan, the way I hadn't with Keith. I could tell Bryan anything, and I knew he wouldn't judge me, or hate me. I felt like my chest would just burst from the emotions I felt when I was around him. Bryan made me feel whole inside. He had saved my life, he had changed my life for the better—as I had seen so far—and he had done what no other stranger has ever done before; he gained my trust. He came around and he'd literally knocked me to the ground from the moment we met. Bryan had turned my world upside down; and I wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing, yet.

I cared about him so much. I wasn't willing to lose him for anything. He was mine, and I was his, for as long as he wanted me. I would tell him everything and anything he wanted to know. I had to tell him about who I was, who my real parents were; everything. I would.

"Miss Coranda?"

I looked up from my desk to see our teacher standing in front of me, a stack of paper in his hand. The class was snickering, all eyes on me. I fought down the urge to blush and nodded at him, a questioning look on my face.

"Homework. Do you have it?" he looked at me expectantly. My stomach dropped.

In all the excitement from last night, I hadn't even done my homework. None of it. That meant three homework assignments wouldn't be turned in by me today—which meant zeros on my part.

Helplessly, I shook my head, my eyes pleading. "I'm sorry, no. There were some… family problems last night, and I didn't get a chance." I didn't bother asking for more time; I knew he wouldn't give it. Nonetheless, I looked him in the eye and started pleading in my head.

_Please give me more time to finish it,_ I said silently to him. _I'll turn it in before the day ends. Please, more time is all I ask._

His eyes had turned both sympathetic and unyielding at the same time, but when I started speaking in my head, his eyes glazed over and became unfocused.

"I'll give you more time to finish the assignment. I want it in here before the day ends, okay?" His eyes had cleared up, and he was looking at me with a confused expression on his face as if he couldn't even begin to fathom why he had just said that. The entire class had their mouths and eyes wide open, jaws touching the floor. My eyes widened, but I held my jaw in check. I was just as shocked as they were.

This teacher had a no-late-work policy, just like all other teachers in this school. He was the least likely to ever break that rule, and everyone who had him as their math teacher knew it. But here he was, breaking his own rule and offering more time to Naomi the Quiet Girl, the one person who would never need it.

Naomi the Quiet Girl was causing major waves in the status quo at Coldwater High School.

Speechless, I nodded silently, eyes still wide. Satisfied, the teacher walked back to his desk and rapidly began to start the lecture. Students, me included, scrambled to write everything he was saying and drawing on the chalkboard. My subconscious took care of that, but the incident was still at the forefront of my mind.

Had… Had I just—_controlled _my math teacher's mind? The very thought that I had done that was repulsive. I was disgusted with myself. I had done the very thing that I hated; I had just taken someone's freewill away from them, had just commanded them to do what I had wanted instead. I felt sick with myself, horrified that I had committed such an act. Mercifully, the bell dismissed us to our second periods, letting me escape what I had just done. For the moment.

Second period was free. We were free to do as we pleased—which meant that I was doing three homework assignments on the bleachers, while everybody both shied away from me, and hovered just a few lengths away, unable to stay away for unfathomable reasons. I was speedily working through my history homework, the last thing I had to do, when a dark, tall figure sat down beside me on the bleachers. I didn't have to look to see who it was. I knew by the speeding of my heartbeat.

"Hey," Bryan said; his warm breath tickled my ear as he leaned in closer to me. I shuddered, rubbing my ear against my shoulder, but smiling at him.

"Hey," I replied, and almost immediately after, looked back down at my homework.

"What are you doing? Homework?"

"Yeah, from yesterday. I didn't have a chance to do it yesterday." My tone was breezy, but I don't think either of us was convinced that what happened yesterday didn't bother me.

"About that." Bryan reached over and put two fingers under my chin, guiding my face up to look at him. "You said you were going to talk to me about that."

I sighed. "Right."

Bryan sat back, elbows on the bench behind him, legs stretched out on the bench below us. Prepared to listen.

I took a deep breath, finishing my last history question, and stuffing it in my backpack triumphantly; homework is officially all done. Which meant I had to talk now.

"Okay, well, I told you about—my parents, right?" It almost hurt to say those words. Because up until yesterday, I had believed them. I had thought they were my parents.

Bryan nodded. "Yeah."

I sucked in a breath and held it, then puffed it out, saying, "Well, it turns out they're not."

"Not what?" Bryan sat up a little straighter in his seat.

"Not my parents." I didn't look at him. I kept my gaze steadily ahead on the boys playing football on the field far away from us. Bryan was quiet, and I took that as my cue to continue.

"They were the friends of my real parents. And my real parents had… left me with them. Supposedly to protect me, but that can't be true. There was nothing to protect me _from._ They left me with the Corandas sixteen years ago, when I was three months old. The Corandas raised me, and while they aren't my birth parents, they are my real parents, because they loved me the way my birth parents didn't. They were with me when my birth parents weren't.

"Three months ago, they came back." My voice was dead now, monotone and devoid of any emotion. "They came back as Vee and Scott's friends. I had no idea that they were… my parents. My flesh and blood. I never would've guessed. But that's not true. I would've guessed; once I'd realized the signs. Patch and Nora Cipriano. So I guess my real name is… Naomi Jarene Cipriano."

The sound of it made me shudder, but my expression never changed. I kept it free of any emotion whatsoever, just like my voice.

"After that incident at the lake"—out of the corner of my eye, I saw Bryan stiffen—"I came straight home. I broke down, and told them about it, and then went to take a shower. They told me they wanted to tell me something. Those past three months, I had gotten so close to them. I loved them like parents. I felt like their daughter, like we were family. Vee was always getting into fights with them about keeping some big secret from me, and letting me love them. She knew. She had always known, of course.

"And they started by telling me first that—they weren't human." I eyed Bryan now, watching for his reaction. He gave me none, thought I caught the slightest raise of eyebrow, making me think he had an idea of where this was headed.

"Bryan, I am trusting you with this secret; it's not only theirs; it's mine, too. Promise—no, _swear_ to me that you won't tell a single soul, a single breathing, living thing or being any of this."

I stared at Bryan hard, willing him to say the words. I wasn't making him do anything like I had with my math teacher; I couldn't do that again, to anyone. Especially to him.

"I swear," Bryan said simply. I stared at him skeptically. "Honestly, I swear," he defended himself. "I swear on my car."

"Your car?" I couldn't help asking. Bryan always had several ways to surprise me. I know I shouldn't be surprised, but I couldn't help it. He always did something new, never something I would expect.

"One of my most prized possessions," he grinned, and then became serious again. "So, you were saying?"

"They told me they weren't human. Scott and Nora—their part of a biblical race that was never meant to roam this earth. They're—Nephilim." The foreign word tumbled off my tongue with the grace of someone who had said it their whole life long. It was slightly unnerving.

"Part human, part fallen angel. And Patch is… a fallen angel. He showed me things. Things that up until last night I would've deemed impossible." I swallowed before continuing. "And then… they showed me… me."

Bryan frowned in confusion. "What do you mean they showed you—you?"

"Patch showed me a memory of them dropping me off at the Corandas' house sixteen years ago. I was in the car with myself in baby form. I watched them leave me with Vee and Scott. I saw them drive away. And I saw _me._ My baby-self. I am their daughter.

"But they left. That's the thing I can't get over. They left me with people who, under any other circumstances, could've been my _godparents._ They stayed out of my life. They were never in it. The only thing that connected me to them was this."

I reached into my shirt and pulled out my silver men's chain. Slightly tarnished, an unreadable inscription in a language I didn't even know, warm from resting over my heart for a while. This was what given me strength when I needed it, what I had believed in when I couldn't trust anyone else. This was a part of me, literally as if it were another body part, another special limb that I had had since birth. Not literally, but it felt that way.

Knowing who had given it to me hadn't made it any less important.

"What about your drawings?" Bryan asked, snapping me out of my thoughts.

"Well, those too. Those and my dreams." A breeze drifted by, ruffling my hair and blowing on my face. But with that breeze came a scent. A specific scent—one that I recognized instantly.

No. That wasn't possible. I had said… Had they really ignored what I had said? Was it just my imagination? Could I have conjured up their scent just by thinking?

I inhaled sharply, stiffening rigidly. I sat up straighter, looking for them all around. The field and track where P.E. took place had a full view of the parking lot. Unfortunately, the parking lot had just as good a view. I stood up in the bleachers, eyes scanning the parking lot for them. I couldn't see as well from the bleachers, so I walked over to the edge and leaped off, landing lithely without so much as a sound.

"Naomi? What's going on? What's the matter?" Bryan leaped down beside me. If I hadn't been so preoccupied, I would've noticed that he'd landed just as well as I had. Except that I heard his feet hit the floor.

I stood at the fence, fingers hanging in the loops, gazing out at the parking lot. At first, I didn't see anything.

Then I caught sight of them walking toward the main building. They had just started walking from their cars; Vee and Scott and Patch and Nora. The breath left my lungs in a _whoosh_, and I leaned back into Bryan, who stood so close behind me that his knees brushed the backs of mine.

"What's—wait, is that them?" He'd caught sight of them, too. Silently, I nodded. He looked at me, reading the panic in my eyes, and turned me around, taking my hands in his. He skimmed his hands up and over my arms, up and down, soothingly.

"Naomi, take a deep breath." I did. "Now let it out." I complied. "Look at me." I looked up at him, tipping my head back to look him in the eye. Evergreen eyes stared back at me, and I felt as though they could see deep into my soul. They made me calm, made me feel better.

"You aren't going to break down; I know it. You aren't going to back down. You are going to be strong, steady, and calm. I believe in you; I know you can do it. Just trust your instincts. Don't let your guard down."

"You're talking like something's going to happen," I said, alarm seeping in. "Like I'm gonna confront them or something."

He shook his head. "Shhhhh." He leaned down and pulled me closer; we were forehead-to-forehead, now. For a few seconds, I let him hold me like that, wrapped in his arms, his warmth. Then he whispered, "Don't look now, but they saw us. They're looking right at you, and if looks could kill, I'd be dead three seconds ago. Just keep this up. Don't let your guard down. Hug me back."

I had gone rigid when he told me they had seen us, but I forced myself to relax when he told me not to let my guard down. I slid my hands up his chest and laced my fingers behind his neck. I laid my head down on his chest, right over his heart; his heartbeat was steady, and there was something strangely endearing and sweet about listening to it. It was like a secret only between us; two beating hearts beating together in time.

I must've made some sort of noise because suddenly I felt vibrations from Bryan's chest and realized he was talking.

"What was that about?"

"Your heart," I blurted out without thinking. "Your heartbeat—it's like… It just sounds so… good."

"Good?" I could hear amusement in his voice, and I felt my cheeks get hot with embarrassment.

"I like it, is what I meant," I said, annoyed at myself. "I can't exactly explain it, but the sound is like… a lullaby. I could fall asleep just listening to your heartbeat for hours. It's… beautiful." My voice was hushed, awed, and I felt the need to hug Bryan tighter, somehow knowing that everything would be okay. Because he was here with me.

"Hmmm," he murmured, "interesting. They're walking over, slowly. Like they're afraid to scare you away or something. Do you wanna leave?"

I shook my head. "I have to stand my ground, hold my guard up. I'll have to face them eventually. If that's today, then so be it."

Bryan leaned his head down to gaze at me, and something shifted in the way the atmosphere felt. Gone was the nervous tenseness, replaced with a sort of yearning. I looked into Bryan's eyes. I wanted him to kiss me. Right now.

As if he had a window to my thoughts, Bryan's eyes flickered down to my mouth, and then back up again. I raised my head from his chest so that I was looking up at him. We touched foreheads. Noses. And then finally, lips.

If I had thought that our kisses before were like electricity, then this was something entirely different. I felt as though every nerve ending inside of me was on fire—a good fire. It burned with an intensity that threatened to make me combust; and only by a single kiss. My fingers played with the ends of his hair at the nape of his neck, while his arms around me held me securely to him, hands on the small of my back. His touch was even fiery than his touch, adding on to the fire that already coursed through me, liquid fire in my veins. But it felt good. Really good.

In his arms, I felt safe. In his arms, I felt happy. In his arms, I felt alive.

"Naomi."

I froze. Someone said my name. And it wasn't Bryan.

Bryan and I broke apart, but we didn't let each other go. My hair hung around our faces like a glossy, black curtain. Only I could see through it.

Patch, Nora, Vee, and Scott stood just next to us on the other side of the chain-link fence. They seemed to be glaring at Bryan, most likely because he was kissing me, or still holding me even though they had alerted us to their presence. To be honest, I really didn't care. I just… didn't. It didn't seem worth it anymore. They'd done enough. Why should I let them do any more damage?

I hugged Bryan to me, putting my lips to his ear.

"Go," I whispered. "I have to do this on my own. I'll see you later."

"Are you sure?" he whispered back.

"Completely. I have to do this. It's only a matter of time."

Bryan nodded, kissed my cheek, and then let me go. I felt a small twinge of happiness when I saw that he was reluctant to let me go. I crossed my arms at the elbows, sighing longingly. I couldn't deny that I wished that I could've been going with him instead of staying behind… with _them._

Biting back my nerves, I turned toward the fence. Just looking at them—especially Those Who Shall Not Be Named—sent my heart into a battlefield without a shield. It was defenseless, vulnerable, and hurt. I took a breath and let it out, keeping my face an emotionless mask to hide any trace of the turmoil of emotions inside of me.

Instead of talking, I raised my eyebrows. _So?_

"Naomi…" Vee trailed off, seemingly at a loss for words. "You were at Sarah's. How did you… how did you get out of the house? Did you—climb out the window?"

I shrugged. _Maybe._

"Please, baby, talk to me. I know you probably hate us—,"

I held my hand up. Surprisingly, though I knew she would, she stopped talking. The gesture was more than enough.

_I don't want to hear it. _

My mask had probably slipped when she's used the endearment; I knew because they all took a step away from the fence. I was guessing it was my anger that shone through.

_Naomi._

I stiffened. A voice, male, was in my head. I knew it immediately. Patch. He was talking to me inside my mind. Even though I knew that was all it was, I still reacted strongly to it. I slammed my mental shields up like a steel door dropping down. I was pretty sure I even heard a giant slam, too.

Patch, Nora, and Scott all suddenly bowed their heads in pain, hands to their temples. They were squinting, as if in pain. While I was confused, I didn't show it. I had no idea why this kept happening when they were around me. What was their problem?

"Naomi, stop it," Vee said; there was a slight tremor in her voice. It took me a moment to realize the emotion accompanying it: Fear. Of me.

I scowled at her, anger surging just a little higher. Involuntarily, I heightened my mental shield as well, and the other three adults gave low grunts of pain or irritation. Vee looked at them all, her face pinched with fear. Then she swung back around to face me, her expression angry, and her eyes fearful. I didn't like that she seemed so afraid of me.

"Naomi, I said to stop it. Stop it right now, I'm not kidding. This isn't funny. _You're hurting them!_"

My breath caught, and it finally dawned on me. What? Me? Hurting _them?_ How could I? I wasn't even doing anything! They were trying to get inside my head, so I shut them out; that was all! Unless…

My mental shield was more than just a shield. Maybe it was a firewall? I know, nerd term, but still. It was possible. After all, I was a Nephilim and fallen angel's daughter.

So, very reluctantly, I inched down my mental shield. Inch by inch until the three of them relaxed, and my shield was still up and strong enough that they wouldn't be able to come in. I stared them down, daring any of them to break the silence.

"Baby," Vee started again; unlike last time, I didn't stop her. My heart ached just to be called that. It was an endearment that used to make me smile; now it just made my stomach churn.

"Please come home. We can figure something out. Whatever you want, I'll do it. We just want you back. You can't stay out there forever. You'll need clothes, food, shelter—and I know that you have all of that from Sarah, but sooner or later; you're going to feel like you're taking too much. I know you. Just save all of that and come home with us."

Before I could stop myself, I scoffed incredulously. How could she expect me to go back there after all that? Did she think I could just forget all about it? That taking the two bigger factors out of the equation would solve anything? Having Patch and Nora gone wouldn't help anything. Their absence—as much as their presence—would only be a stinging reminder of all that had happened.

Vee frowned then, her eyes looking hurt. I steeled myself against any feeling of remorse or regret of hurting her feelings. I couldn't let it get to me.

So I walked away. Just like that, without a single glance back. Several times, my emotions threatened to break through my steely shield, but I contained them; this wasn't the time or place to break down.

I met Bryan in front of the gym doors, and offered him a weak smile that I knew wouldn't convince him for a second. Still, he didn't push it, and I was so grateful. I was sure I would break down had I talked to him about it; and I was almost positive that he sensed that, too.

We went our separate ways when third period rolled around. I was just getting out my history notebook when the intercom beeped, signaling the start of an announcement. This particular announcement sent chills running down my spine and the eyes of every person in the room to me:

"Please excuse the interruption, this is Principal Mason speaking. Naomi Coranda, please come to the office. You are needed immediately."

It ended with a click.

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><p><strong>Oh my goodness, guys. I am so late for this update. About four or five days ago, this could've been up. But I got too lazy around the past couple of paragraphs. Plus, FF wasn't letting me upload it from my laptop, so I had to copy and paste this from another file. :\ I know, this was a sucky chapter. It's more of a filler anyway. Next one will be much better. :) <strong>

**Please review, even if you hate me. **

**Ciao!**

**~Alee V. **


	10. Chapter 10

**Hey y'all! Had surgery on the 14****th**** of September. Turns out I'm not as responsive as I should be to anesthesia medication. I took a full bottle of the stuff just to feel numb. It was so much that I didn't feel my foot for two days after the procedure. **

**Anyway, I come with chapter ten of "Living a Lie." I hope you enjoy! Thanks to everybody who reviewed on the last chapter! I know it wasn't one of my best, but thanks for reviewing on it anyway. :) That's some real support there. I love you all! **

**Read on, and please review!**

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><p>"Miss Coranda." I looked up from my desk at my English teacher. She jerked her chin first at me, and then at the door. "You may grab your things and leave. You'll just read another chapter of our class novel and answer the comprehension questions on the worksheet. Goodbye."<p>

I swallowed and stood up, shoving my journal into my backpack and slinging it over my shoulder. I walked out of the classroom and into the hallway toward the office. I looked calm and composed on the outside to the untrained eye; but I could feel the tremors shaking my legs, the moisture in my palms.

I rounded the corner, my heart squeezing at the sight of the principal's office. The blinds were pulled open and I could see who was inside. I wasn't surprised at all.

Vee, Scott, Patch, and Nora all sat rigidly in four chairs at Principal Mason's desk. I stood at the corner, half of me behind the wall and the other half past it. Principal Mason sat at her desk across the adults, smiling a professional smile that glowed with authority. She glanced out the window just as I was considering ducking back behind the wall; my heart sank when she waved at me through the window. All adults turned in their seats to follow her gaze. Too late; I'd been sighted.

I blew out a sigh and walked into the office, standing just inside the doorway uncertainly.

"Hello, Naomi," Principal Mason said. Her voice was smooth and reassuring, cool and collected, like an ex-lawyer's would. That was her career before she became the principal of CHS. "Please have a seat." She gestured at the only available seat in the room.

Of course it had to be right between Nora and Vee.

I glanced at the chair mutely for a second, then twitched my mouth to the side slightly and shrugged, walking over carelessly to the chair. I stood before it, then slowly sank into it, resting my hands on the armrests lightly. I crossed my leg over the other and looked at Principal Mason.

She cleared her throat and leaned on her desk closer to me, hands clasped. "Do you have any idea why you are here?" she asked me.

I shrugged. "Your guess would be as good as mine." It wasn't exactly a lie. Technically speaking, I had a pretty good guess, but if she guessed that it was parent trouble, then it was as good as mine. Besides, I didn't have "any" ideas. I already knew.

"I see." She turned her gaze over to the adults who, up until then, hadn't so much as glanced at us. "Your parents were concerned about you. They said that you all discussed something last night and that they needed you to hear them out some more about it. Now, it is none of my business what it is that is going on in your personal life, but I suggest that you take care of it now before something worse happens in the future, you know?"

Heat was rushing through me. My palms were sweaty, my face was burning, and I felt my shirt and pants sticking to my skin uncomfortably. I was just so… not mad, exactly, and not quite mortified, but a sort of combination. I couldn't believe that they had gone as low as calling the _principal_ to get me to talk to them.

Even after the confrontation in second period. Even after this morning's conversation with Vee. I had been quite clear when I told her not to come after me to force me home.

Quite clear.

I swallowed down the indignant lump in my throat. "I understand, Principal Mason. I just hope they know that they didn't need to take personal affairs to my high school _principal _as if I would be _that_ difficult." I spoke about them as if they weren't there in the office with us. I knew they noticed.

Principal Mason had the good grace to look uncomfortable, at least. "Well, then. I'm glad you understand. Eh… why don't I e-mail your teachers and tell them that you won't be attending your classes today because of personal family affairs, hmm?"

She didn't wait for an answer. She just turned to the laptop on her desk and started rapidly typing and clicking, all precision and focus. I sat there; hands clenched, face taut, back rigid.

"Okay, it's all taken care of. Do you have any homework I can put in their boxes from last night?"

I take my homework out of my backpack and hand it to her mutely. She smiled at me, and took it. I tried not to glare at her; after all, it wasn't _her_ that I was mad at.

"Have a good day, Naomi," she said. I took it as my cue to leave. I stood up, my face blank and expressionless, and nodded to her before turning to walk out the door. My fists clenched as I heard the adults all stand up to leave with me. I walked calmly out of the office, the picture of serenity as I made my way to the hallways.

Third period had ended, and it was now our nine-minute break. Students were loitering around their lockers, couples making out, cliques huddling together, friends meeting up. Heads turned as I was spotted, and I heard my name in several conversations, whispered and shouted. Gossip and rumors had spread faster than I had anticipated.

And they would only get worse, I realized, because _they_ were walking behind me. People would talk. They would create ridiculous stories. They would twist it into everything and anything it wasn't; just to have a reason to degrade me.

I didn't care, however. They could talk, but people only saw what they wanted to see. Not what was actually there.

"Naomi?"

I whipped my head around in the direction I'd heard my name called. I had been so caught up in trying to ignore the whispers that I hadn't noticed how close to my locker we'd been getting. Sarah was staring at me, mouth hanging open, looking as shocked as I'd ever seen her. I gave her a resigned look at her raised eyebrow.

"Wow." She shook her head.

"See you later," I said in a low voice. She nodded, and continued on her way to her locker. I already knew before I made it to my locker who was waiting for me.

Bryan stood leaning against my locker, arms and ankles crossed while he waited for me. I knew that he'd heard the announcement on the intercom—hell, the whole school had heard—but he still couldn't seem to hide the surprise in his expression. Or maybe that was for my benefit.

_I'll call you later,_ I mouthed at him. The corner of his mouth pulled down along with his eyebrows, but he said nothing. I was instantly suspicious, and grew alarmed when he pushed himself off the locker and start to make his way over to me. He fell into step beside me, taking my hand in his. I glanced down first at our hands, and then questioningly at him.

"I'll walk you out?" he made it sound like a question, and he offered me a grin that I didn't want to resist. I pressed my lips together in a straight line and nodded. Having him beside me, grabbing my hand as though to offer me some support, made me waver, and almost break through my steely resolve. My palms started to sweat again, and I squeezed his hand slightly.

What would I do when I had to let go of his hand and leave with _them?_ What exactly was going on here? After everything that happened, did they really think I'd be so complacent and submissive? That I was just going to accept this without another word on the subject from my part?

No. They weren't stupid. There was a plan, a reason behind all of this. I just needed to figure out _what_ and get the advantage.

We finally reached the doors. Bryan and I stopped before them, staring at the parking lot outside, at the trees with their leaves of reds, browns, and yellows. Fall was just beginning. It was beautiful, one of my favorite times of the year, when all the leaves on trees change colors, right before they all fall off and leave their trees bare and thin for the harsh winter months to fend on their own. But the sky above it all was darker and drearier than I'd ever seen it before. It seemed to me that this was the beginning of the darkest autumn I'd ever seen.

I turned to Bryan then, because I heard the adults' shuffling footsteps nearing us from behind. I looked into his eyes, trying to look calm and serene about it all. From the smile on Bryan's lips, I wasn't quite sure I'd pulled it off. He leaned down and stole a brief kiss, and then whispered in my ear, "Goodbye, Naomi."

Bryan walked off into the hallway without another look back.

I swallowed down my fraying nerves and pushed the glass double-doors open, walking down the concrete steps to the parking lot. But since I wasn't sure where they'd parked, or, again, what was going on, I waited for them to catch up to me and lead the way. I tried to fold into myself, to make myself seem smaller so that I wouldn't touch them accidentally, or something. I felt strangely vulnerable, like I was walking right into a trap. I didn't like the feeling.

We got into the car—it was the van that I'd seen in the driveway for Patch and Nora's first visit—and drove silently to the house. Now, I'm not going to lie to you; throughout the entire ride, I was seriously considering jumping out of the car. The tension was so thick and suffocating in that car that a butter knife wouldn't be enough. I couldn't stop my eyes from constantly and repeatedly glancing down at the doorknob of the car door I was sitting next to. And I guess Patch—who was driving—must've noticed, because the last time I looked at it, the automatic door locks clicked into place, and when I looked up, I saw him eying me in the rear-view mirror.

I'd rolled my eyes and looked away.

When we finally bounced in the driveway, I was itching to get out of the car. Such a small space; I had no idea how it contained so much tension and stuffiness. Did I mention I'm slightly claustrophobic? Guess not.

The adults slid out behind me, and they walked me into the house, Vee and Scott in front of me, Patch and Nora behind me. Almost as if they were trying to prevent me from escaping.

_What would I have a reason to escape from?_

Inside the house, everything looked much the same as before; only a few things had been changed. Dishes left on the coffee table had been moved, presumably to the kitchen; the floors had been dried and cleaned; the mail was nowhere in sight…. Just little things that normally wouldn't be noticed. Except that I had noticed. Scott's pocket knife was lying on the welcoming table in the foyer; making sure they weren't watching, I stealthily reached my hand out and swiped it into my sweater sleeve, the cold metal pressing into the inside of my wrist. I casually put both hands into my pockets so that it looked like I was just nervous instead of pocketing the knife.

Intuition told me to take it. I just hoped I wouldn't have to use it here.

I stood there in the living room, watching stoically as the adults all stepped around me and seemed to get comfortable on the couches. As if nothing was wrong. As if yesterday never happened. _As if they expected me to do the same._

But I didn't. I just stood there like a stranger staring at people she'd never met before. Because, I realized, that was exactly what I was. A stranger in my own house. A shell of the girl I used to be certain I was; where did she go? How could she abandon me when I needed her most?

_You do realize you're talking about yourself, right? You're only one person. You're either _her_ or someone else entirely._

The whole prospect made my head hurt.

"Are you going to stand like that all day?" Vee finally said, breaking the ice. She scooted over a little on the sofa and patted the space next to her. "C'mere; sit over here."

I merely raised an eyebrow at her. I stood with my arms crossed, weight rolled onto one hip; the picture of impassiveness. "Who said I had any intention of staying here all day?" I asked, my tone curt and cold.

Vee's face fell. She pressed her lips together in a straight line and looked down at her lap.

"Just _whose_ idea was it to take this personal issue to my school _principal?_ I'd like an _honest_ answer, please."

Vee raised her hand. I somehow wasn't surprised.

"Ah. And I bet your reasoning behind this was that I wouldn't want to make a scene or refuse my principal when she stood behind you, supporting you for something she doesn't even know about—_shouldn't _even know about. And I meant what I said back there, for the record. Did you really think I'd be _that_ difficult?"

Vee opened her mouth to say something, but I held up a frustrated hand, cutting her off.

"That was a rhetorical question. And anyway, I don't want to hear the answer."

It was silent for a few moments, the sound of our breathing the only sound in the room. Somewhere in the house, the heater kicked on; somewhere upstairs, the sound of dripping water from a leaky faucet could be heard. These were things I'd never realized I could hear. The beginning of a long—and still growing—list of things I was beginning to notice that I've never noticed before.

"So?" I said, slapping my hands on my thighs. "I'm here. You've got me—temporarily. What do you want?"

Patch cleared his throat. I could feel his eyes on me, trying to catch and hold mine, but I averted my gaze the moment I heard that noise coming from him. I wasn't going to look at them. I couldn't.

"We just… want you to hear us out. That's all we want. A chance to explain ourselves before you decide whether or not you hate us. Please, Naomi. That's all we want." The pain and desperation in his voice was so apparent, so real, that I had to swallow a lump in my throat, though my eyes stayed dry, thankfully.

I jerked my chin in his general direction; a gesture for him to continue.

"Okay, well…" he trailed off, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw him turn to Nora. She nodded, and then sat up straighter on the couch.

"Patch and I met in high school in my sophomore year," she began, a faraway look in her eyes. "I was always trying to convince myself to stay away from him, but when our biology teacher made us switch seats, he became my new bio partner. Seeing him was inevitable, as much as I hadn't liked it back then.

"We grew closer over the course of a few weeks, but I was still wary of him. He always knew the right thing to say to draw me in, and then push me away. I couldn't figure him out; and that was what made me want to. One day, Vee went to a party with some new guys we'd met a few weeks before, and I was going to go pick her up because she didn't want to be there anymore. But I couldn't figure out how to get there, and I had to get directions from some bag lady on the street. Seconds after she walked away from me, a car rolled up and shot her, and then drove away. It was one of the scariest days of my life.

"I called Patch then, and he came to pick me up. She started to drive me home, but then he made me think that something was wrong with the car. He got out to 'investigate' and told me the car was dead. He took me to some slummy motel about a block away to stay for the night and—,"

I cut her off for a second, the words blurting out of my mouth before I could stop them. "Don't tell me that's how _I _came along…"

Both Nora's and Patch's expressions were priceless. Immediately, they began to discourage the idea, saying "no" over and over again.

While I was interested in the story they were telling me, I didn't see how it had anything to do with me. Unless, of course, they were lying about what _really _happened at the motel…

Something had caught my ear, though, when she had said that Patch 'made' her think. Had she meant that he'd… controlled her mind? Probably. A shiver went down my spine, and I tried to play it off as a shiver of disgust at the thought of what Patch and Nora could do at a slummy motel. It wasn't actually that far of a stretch.

"Anyway," Nora cleared her throat, "that was where I confirmed my suspicions about him being what he is. And I also found out that he wanted to sacrifice me to get a human body. But he didn't. His Nephilim vassal, Chauncey Langais, was trying to kill me, too, to get to Patch and torture him because… Patch loved me. Chauncey saw me as the only thing that could hurt Patch. But I threw myself off the rafters in the gym of the school. I died, and Patch didn't accept my sacrifice.

"He saved my life, and that made him my guardian angel."

Patch interrupted her. "You're leaving someone out," he murmured. Their eyes met.

"I know," Nora said, looking a little defensive. But she sighed and continued to explain. "Before I killed myself"—everyone in the room, myself included, winced—"there was an accident at my house. Patch's ex-girlfriend, back in his archangel days, was jealous that Patch was in love with me. She was the one who had given him my name as a possible candidate to become a guardian if he saved my life. She tried to kill me. She set my mother's room on fire, too. But then I escaped, and went looking for Vee. She was what brought me to the school. Chauncey had her, and I went to go save her."

I looked at Vee for the first time since Nora had started to explain everything. She was looking straight ahead, trying to look impassive, but hardly succeeding. What she must've gone through in her teenage years… I would never look at her the same way.

"But as I was saying, after Patch became my guardian angel, things went calmly for a little while. Summer started, and that's where things started happening. I dropped the L bomb on Patch at the wrong place at the wrong time. The archangels didn't want us getting involved. They assigned him to Marcie Millar—my archenemy… and my sister."

My eyes widened, and my stomach dropped. _Sister?_ As in, I had an _aunt?_ I was having a little trouble breathing. Since discovering that the Corandas weren't my real parents, I hadn't really thought much about anybody else that I had thought I was related to. All of those supposed cousins, grandparents—they weren't related to me at all. But now Nora just dumped the fact that I had an aunt, related to me by actual flesh and blood, as if it weren't that big of a deal.

But there was something about the way she had hesitated, when saying her name and their relation, that made me think there was something hidden, something I was missing about it. Not that it was _nothing;_ more like it was a _big something._

"She told me the day after he sped off—after I told him I loved him—that she saw him staring up into her window from the bottom of her driveway. I was shocked and pissed, hoping that she way lying just to get to me. I didn't know what to think. So when he came over later that day, I confronted him about it. We said such horrible things. I regret every single word. We broke up, and that same day my mother brought over an old childhood friend.

"Scott. Scott Parnell." This time I looked over at Scott. He gazed back at me calmly, warily. I slid my gaze back over to Nora, almost dreading every word. It was like scraping and chipping gravel off a road; each word chipped off another chunk of concrete, another thing I thought I knew. She was scraping up the very foundation of who I was, what I knew. I didn't like the feeling.

"My mom was hoping I'd be into him, that we'd somehow hook up like in those chick-flicks on TV. But it wasn't going to happen. Ever. I hung out with him, going to certain places. And in those certain places, Patch just so happened to be there too. At this one pool hall place, he was there, playing poker, and Marcie came up to him and hugged—if you could call it that—him from behind. She was such a…" Nora trailed off, probably trying to come up with an insult that wasn't too harsh.

"Well," Nora continued when she couldn't think of anything, "she was just _Marcie._ A fight broke out, with guns and brawling and everything, and Patch dragged me out of there. I told him then that I didn't need him, didn't need his help. God knows I was lying, to him and myself. I was just too stubborn.

"So things progressed, with both Scott and Marcie. An old friend of Patch's—," She cut herself off. Her expression turned pensive, thoughtful, as she stared at the ground as if to think about what to say next.

I should've known it was all just a ruse.

_Rixon,_ her voice came tentatively into my mind. _He was an old friend of Patch's. He was dating Vee, but she doesn't remember it. She isn't supposed to. Nobody is. _Her eyes caught mine briefly, and she stopped there, almost as if to ask my permission to continue. Stiffly, as I had gone rigid when she talked in my head, I nodded ever so slightly.

_He planted thoughts in my head, trying to make me think that my dad's ghost was trying to hurt me,_ she continued.

Again, my eyes widened, though this time my jaw dropped. _Her dad's ghost?_ Her dad—my grandfather—he was dead? I… never got the chance to meet him? Never even knew for one second until now that he existed. Another family member that I never knew about. Who else was there?

At my expression, Nora winced. She glanced at Patch beside her, probably communicating with him silently. He merely raised an eyebrow, and then nodded over at me slightly. Nora returned her gaze to the floor.

_He was also turning me against Patch. Planting little seeds of doubt and distrust between us from my side. He was also trying to kill me, for the same reason that Patch wanted to. He wanted a human body. _

Out loud, she continued speaking as though none of our internal, one-sided conversation had happened. "Scott went a little crazy over a ring that happened to belong to the leader of a Nephilim group preparing for a war against fallen angels, the Black Hand. He broke into my house to get it from me, and _Vee_ came over and called the cops."

The way she said Vee made me think it wasn't just her. I guessed Rixon was there, too.

"They took him into the station, and the next day we went to Summer Solstice, Vee and me. Scott escaped and hunted me down. And that same night, I was shot in the arm. But I discovered so many things that night. Hank Millar was my real father. Well, sperm donor, I prefer. My mother only married my dad because they all three agreed it was the only way to hide me and keep me safe. That my dad was murdered by someone I interacted with on an almost daily level. Oh so many things.

"And then at the end of the night, Patch and I made up. He was finally going to take me to his place, but then trouble found us. Hank Millar, to be exact. The Black Hand. He kidnapped me, almost killed me just because I killed Chauncey with my sacrifice. He kept me for three months as a hostage, to make Patch give him fallen angel information. Patch gave up his wings for me. He was willing to make me forget all about him just as long as I was safe and alive.

"Hank erased my memory of those three months, but Patch wanted him to go back farther, to where it all began: The moment I met him. And for a while, maybe a few days, it worked. But deep inside, I knew there was something wrong, something I was missing. I wouldn't give up. I found him, and everything found me. Scott came back on the map—he went into hiding after I was kidnapped—and helped me out, explained everything I'd forgotten about fallen angels and Nephilim. Marcie tried to confuse me about Patch, just so I'd give her a necklace that Patch had given me once upon a time when I told him that night that I loved him.

"She said that he was just a fling, that he and Marcie used to date"—beside her, Patch shuddered and shook his head—"and I believed her, until Scott cleared that up for me, too. No matter how much Patch wanted me to forget about him, I wouldn't. And he couldn't stay away in the sidelines as much as he thought he was supposed to. We had to be together.

"We were chased by Hank's men one night when I decided to scope out one of his warehouses, and we had to go to Patch's place. It was the first time I'd ever seen it. I stayed there that night. And the next day, Hank was on my case. He was dating my mom, so there was nothing I could do. So, after that, prom was coming closer and closer, and Marcie kept trying to get the necklace from me. I didn't know why until Patch explained it to me. Hank wanted to use it to ask an archangel something—I never knew what. If he had the necklace, she wouldn't have had a choice; she would've had to talk. Once Marcie got the necklace, she took it to Hank. And I was forced to stay behind in Patch's apartment. But then Scott called because he'd been spotted at a concert of his. I went to help him, but we were caught. Hank forced me to make an oath that would change me into a pureblooded Nephil. He knew he was going to die soon, and he wanted an heir to take over his army."

"I thought you said Nephilim were immortal," I interjected when she stopped to take a breath.

Nora's expression was approving, and I knew it was because she thought I was paying attention. "Yes, they are, but Patch made a deal that night with the archangels when he returned the captured angel home. Until the morning after that night, Hank would be as mortal as any other human. Meaning, he was killable. They wanted us to kill Hank and stop the war of Nephilim versus Fallen Angel. So, that night, I killed him. I killed Hank Millar."

Her tone, her expression, everything about her was stony as she claimed her committed murder of her father. Ahem, sperm donor. It was impossible to look at her the same way after learning all of this. Nora was not the sweet, little innocent housewife who sat in a kitchen wearing an apron around her waist cooking meals all day for her husband. She was kind and sweet, but also ruthless and cold when she needed to be.

"I don't regret it. I don't. The next morning, I went over to my house and found that Scott was back, and that he had two other… _friends_ with him." Her hesitation and emphasis on the word "friends" made it seem like they were anything but. "They told me that every single Nephil was counting on me to lead them into war against the fallen angels, to freedom. But I knew I couldn't do that. I had made a promise to the archangels to stop the war, but I had made a blood oath to Hank that I would lead his army. I just had to choose my opponent.

"It was a long and hard battle, let me tell you. Not a single second of it was easy. The first three years—it didn't end during or after Cheshvan—were difficult. But Patch and I got married. Mom's approval also took that long," Nora offered me a dry smile. "And about a year after being married… I got pregnant." She spoke softly now, and I didn't know if that comforted me or made me uneasy.

"Things were rough at the time. We were in hiding, trying to stay off the grid. Nephilim and fallen angels were after us. The first few times weren't that bad. They were just trying to hurt us. But then, accidents turned into missions. Assassins, snipers, thugs—everything you can imagine. Things weren't safe. We thought we could just hide for a while, wait things out a bit. But then I found out that I was pregnant, and we realized just how much more dangerous things were going to get.

"No matter how secretive and private we were, news still got out. Rumors went out that Nora Grey, the Black Hand's daughter; the commander of the Black Hand army was pregnant. It seemed like everything and everyone went into a frantic frenzy. The attacks came even more frequently, more vicious and lethal. They thought we would be in a weak state, distracted by the pregnancy. But if anything, we were all the more prepared and focused one staying safe and under the radar. Everything was going pretty well, all things considering.

"And then I went into labor. It was at the worst time, too: In the middle of an attack, with an assassin, paid to target me, to make me lose the baby. I was about eight and a half months by then. I shouldn't have even been traveling around so close to the due date. But we had no choice. An attack had occurred just days ago. We had to leave, or we wouldn't be so lucky the next time." Her eyes had a faraway look in them, reliving the past as she told me about it.

"I remember every second of it," she continued. "One second I was punching the snot out of the guy, and the next I was hunched over in pain, my water broken. Patch was facing another guy, and he couldn't help me. It was the scariest moment of my life. All I could think was, _Not now. Please, not now._ But you were coming; there was nothing I could do to stop it. The guy took the opportunity to try to stab me with his knife. He must not have been informed properly that I couldn't die. He got me good, though. Right here in the ribs." Her fingers traveled up to her left side, over her ribcage. "It healed instantly, and I killed that bastard with another knife that he'd dropped on the ground. By then, Patch was already done with the others. He was so scared when I told him I was in labor. He turned white as a sheet, and hurried to get me to the car.

"We were too far away to get to a hospital in time. So we just went into an abandoned house on the side of the road and went in there. We thought it was abandoned, but it turned out there was this old couple living there. We couldn't have gotten any luckier; the old woman was a retired maternity nurse. She didn't know much, but it was more than enough to deliver you. She made everyone help; pretty much just Patch and her husband. I swear, Patch almost fainted a couple times during the whole ordeal.

"It hurt like hell, giving birth to you. But the second I held you in my arms, I knew every second, every wound, every ounce of pain was worth it. The sound of your first cry in the world, your announcement that you were here, alive and beautiful, was the most wonderful thing I'd ever heard in the whole world. It still is."

I watched her with a blank expression, my face clean of any emotion whatsoever. Nora's eyes filled with tears, and her hands moved up to cradle an invisible baby, her head tilted down to look at it.

"You were so beautiful," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "You were born small, with a shock of black hair, and blue eyes. Your skin was tan, and you had the most beautiful smile in the whole world. You were _my_ whole world. You were small, and you were perfect, and you were _mine._ I wanted you. So badly. But like before, word got out that you were born. Everything, every little fantasy that I'd had that things would be a little better now that you were here, crumbled to pieces.

"I was so stupid to even fantasize it. I should've known it would only get worse. They just kept coming and coming, faster than we could kill them. I just didn't know what to do. They actually got you once. It was the worst day of my life. An assassin found us, and we were having a relaxed day. I never would've thought they would strike. It was unusual for them to attack in the daytime. Patch and I were in the room across the hall. You were silent, taking a nap. But then I heard you making noises, so I came to check on you. When I went into the room, you weren't in your crib. You were gone.

"I remember the instant panic, the dread, the overwhelming _fear_ of it all. I called for Patch, and we jumped out the window just in time to see the car drive away. We ran as fast as we could to the car. It was fast, but we were much faster. Their only initiative was to kill you, so they didn't mind getting into a car crash. We just barely managed to get you out alive. The car crashed into a tree and exploded with those sons of bitches in it. That was the last straw, though. I wasn't—_couldn't_ let you get hurt again. So, we planned a trip from New Mexico to Maine.

"I always dreaded that night. There wasn't a day after we left that I didn't think about you, about how you were doing, if anyone still came after you, if you remembered us. It wasn't possible that you could remember us, though, because you were only three months old. It was raining, and the sky had never looked darker. Letting you go was the hardest thing I've ever done. We had to somehow spread the word that you had died in that car crash. After all, nobody knew if you were born immortal or not. There has never been anything like Patch and me before. You are the first and only one of your kind.

"We had to forge your death, fake it so that they would think they'd gotten to us. It wasn't hard to act like it. Without you, living was hard. I—,"

I interrupted her. "Okay. I understand. It was difficult. A lot of emotions, regrets, fears—I get it. You've explained. So why did you decide all of a sudden to come back into my life _now_ of all times?"

It literally hurt to choke the words out of my throat, but I managed it. Those words were cruel and mean, but her words were getting to me. I didn't want to sympathize. I didn't want to think that everything they'd done had been for me. To protect me. I still wasn't sure I believed all of this anyway. There was something about the whole story, things that Nora wasn't telling me. Important things that she was leaving out. I was suspicious, wary, paying close attention to every word, analyzing them.

Hurt flashed across her face, but she continued on nonetheless. "I was getting to that," she said softly. "Word spread around that you had died, and for a while, everyone believed it. They were no longer trying to get us as much. They didn't leave us alone completely, but things had slowed down. For the past sixteen years, things have been alright.

"But now, things are starting to change. There were some people who were suspicious about the accident that you had _died_ in. They didn't believe that you had died. You were the child of two immortals. There was no way that you couldn't be immortal as well. They investigated, came up with theories and stuff for all these years and finally came up to one conclusion: The Black Hand's daughter was not dead.

"This discovery was recent, about a few months ago. And what makes it even worse is that you are sixteen now. You are at your most weakest, an even bigger target. If anyone were to find you, they would try to kill you, Naomi. _That _is why we're telling you all of this now."

My breath caught in my throat. I was a walking target. Nephilim and fallen angels—things that I never would've thought existed—were out there in the world, looking for me, _hunting_ me. They would try to kill me. I was vulnerable. I was sixteen. I was…

My thoughts were all jumbled, chasing each other until one thought made itself clear, like a neon sign flashing in my mind: _I wasn't safe._

But that wasn't all; I could tell. They weren't telling me all of this just because they wanted to warn me. There was something else too, something they wanted from me.

"What's the catch?" I said, swallowing. "What else is there that you aren't telling me? What do you want from me?"

Nora and Patch shared long look, first with each other, then with Vee and Scott. Alarm and panic were rising within me, my heart thumping double-time like a trapped bird trying to escape from a cage.

"_What?"_

"It's not safe here for you, Naomi," Patch said in a low voice. Perhaps it was meant to be soothing. Calming, even. But if anything, it just made me all the more panicked. "You can't trust anyone. Not your teachers, not your friends…."

I had a feeling—a bad feeling—that I knew where this was going.

"So… we need you to come with us."

There was a deafening silence, a long ringing in my ears. And then:

"…What?"

"We need to leave Maine," Patch said slowly, his tone meant to be soothing and calming. He kept his eyes trained on me carefully, his body language the same as someone who would be trying to approach a scared animal. "It's not safe here for you," he repeated, even lower than before.

I was perfectly frozen, nailed in place, expression blank. And then I was moving in a flash, quick as lightning up the stairs; here one second, gone the next. I was up the stairs in less than five seconds, the fastest I'd ever moved before. It only confirmed that I was, indeed, their child. I knew without looking that they had followed behind me, just as fast, if not quicker. I burst into my bedroom just as Patch snagged my elbow and spun me around.

I yanked my arm out of his grasp, fixing them with a mutinous glare. "Don't come any closer," I warned, breathing heavily as I stuck my arms out to keep them at a distance. I slowly took steps backward toward my window, but they noticed my movements, taking one step closer. I stopped. "You're both delirious if you think I'm going anywhere with you!"

"We were hoping you would see the graveness of all of this," Nora said. "Your _life _is on the line, Naomi!"

"I'm not leaving Maine!" I shouted back at her.

"And we're not letting you stay here!" she shouted back. The second the words tumbled out of her mouth, her face took on an expression of regret, and she clapped her hand over her mouth.

I was incredulous. _"Let_ me? You don't get to _let _me do anything! You technically don't have that right! Nobody _lets_ me do anything! I do what I want!" The last thing wasn't quite true, but by then I was just livid, spitting the words out, practically.

Who were they to think they could just waltz into my life and take over? They had their chance—sixteen years, and they only come back now. Just because people found out that I was alive. Would they have come back if I had remained a secret? Would I have lived my life feeling and knowing deep down that I didn't belong here, that I wasn't who I thought I was? Is that really any way to live?

"Would you guys have even come back if people hadn't figured out I was alive?" My voice had a slight tremble; I cursed myself for it. "You two don't have a right, legally or responsibility-wise; to come back, claim that my entire life has been a lie and that you two are my parents, after being gone for the past _sixteen years. _If you hadn't come back, I would've lived my entire life feeling and knowing deep down that I didn't belong here, that something—_everything_—wasn't right. You realize that, don't you?"

They stayed silent, and Vee and Scott entered the room behind them.

"Naomi, there's time for explanations and arguments later," Patch said stiffly. "But right now, we have to leave. You can't stay here. They _know._ And they won't stop until they have you."

"I am not going anywhere with you."

"Fine. I really didn't want to have to do this." He started to advance towards me.

I panicked. Faster than they could blink, Scott's knife was in my hand, poised to strike. "Don't come any closer!" I shouted, one hand slightly extended to keep them away. I was standing lightly, on the balls of my feet, ready to move at a moment's notice.

Patch froze. Everyone in the room held their breath as they stared at me, looks of complete surprise and shock on their faces.

"Naomi," Patch said in a low voice, "just what do you think you can do with that knife?"

I glared at him. "Not nearly enough."

"Then hand it over. This is it. You're coming with us out of Maine. No further discussion."

I smirked then. "Do you really think I'll be that compliant?"

"I don't expect you to, and you won't have to be. You're coming whether you like it or not."

And then I felt really sorry, apologetic, and rueful. I shook my head. "I told you. I'm not leaving Maine."

I pulled my arm back and hurled the knife at him as hard as I could. Nora and Vee shrieked, Scott yelled my name, and a look of complete surprise flashed across Patch's features. But I knew it wouldn't hit him. He flew backwards into the wall, the knife embedded in the plaster completely with the force of how hard I'd thrown it. He was stuck there by the sleeve of his shirt, momentarily stunned enough that he didn't make a move for several seconds.

More than enough time for what I did next.

I turned my back on them in the same instant that he hit the wall and ran straight in the opposite direction. I crashed through the window, shards of glass flying and cutting my exposed skin as I fell out through the other side. I landed on the ground below, rolling over to absorb the shock of the fall and landing in a crouch on one knee, my hand on the ground to steady myself.

Blood ran down my face from a cut slicing through my left eyebrow, and I had several cuts on my cheeks and hands, but I was otherwise unharmed. As soon as I was on the floor, I leaped out of my crouch and ran as hard as I could through the woods. I could hear them yelling my name behind me, none of them getting any closer as I put more distance between us by the second.

"I'm not leaving Maine," I whispered to myself.

_I'm not leaving Maine. _

_I'm not leaving Maine._

_I am not leaving Maine._

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><p><strong>So, what do you guys think? Love it? Hate it? Tell me in a review! And, if you haven't read the last paragraph on my profile, please do. I got a very "not nice" review—not for this story—not too long ago, and I did not appreciate it. <strong>

**Please don't review if you're going to insult me. That's all I'm going to say. :) **

**Anyway, you guys know the drill. Two reviews and I update. :D More than that, and I make it long. Just my logic.**

**And here's my response to a recent review: **Thanks for reviewing, and I'm glad you love the story! You are actually the first one, I think, to mention anything about the initials. You are officially AWESOME. And bonus, you got it right! NJC is, in fact, related to Nora Jev Cipriano. It wasn't all that intentional when I first came up with her name until I really thought about it. Thanks so much for asking, and thinking about it! It's nice to know you guys read those. ;)

**Alrighty, then! That's all for now! Oh, and just a btw, I have a favor to ask you guys. **

**What songs do you guys think fit this story? In the whole concept of lies, and betrayal, and past and new loves. I think one that fits Naomi's predicament—more or less—is "Beautiful Lie" by 30 Seconds To Mars. Awesome song, I recommend it. **

**Okay, **_**now**_** that's all. **

**Ciao!**

**~Alee V.**


	11. Not an Update, PLEASE READ!

Hey everybody, this isn't an update; sorry if you thought it was. I'm gonna just come out with it: I'm on computer probation. Meaning that I will be torn from my computer, NOOK, and MP3 player until the end of the year. A whole FREAKING THREE MONTHS. That means no updates for... a long while. I know this is unexpected and cruel, but you can thank my mother for it. Any probation and lack of updates you can thank HER for.

It breaks my heart because I was so freaking close to making it up to a close point on a lot of my stories, but apparently my mom just LOVES to punish me. She says she's sorry, but I can see it in her eyes; She's not. She never is. I have just enough time to write and post this up because she just went to work.

Lately my brother and I have been nothing but disappointments to her. I don't mean to spill my whole life story to you guys; you don't wanna hear it. I won't be on here until 2013, or unless God decides I've learned my lesson, and makes my mother give me my stuff back.

If and when I ever get the chance to type or post a chapter on a story, I promise I will. I'll keep writing in journals, and stuff. At the chance, I will post. It won't be for a long while, yet, though, so don't get your hopes up. This is absolutely heartbreaking for me. I am so, so sorry. This is going on all of my fanfics, jsyk.

I'm going on a withdrawl on everything; Reading, Writing, Web-surfing, and worst of all, MUSIC. It's all gone. Just like that. I'm crying as I type this.

So, with that said, I say goodbye to you guys. See you next year.

-Alee V.


	12. Chapter 11

**Hey, y'all! So, I really liked the great support and feedback that I get/got from you guys; I seriously appreciate it. You have no idea; you are my motivation! Without you, I wouldn't have made it this far. Thanks; I love you all! **

**Anyways, I'm back with chapter eleven of Living a Lie. My goodness; CHAPTER ELEVEN ALREADY! My baby grew up so fast! *Sniff, sniff***

**Here you are; read, review, and enjoy!**

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><p><strong>Yes, I finally got a chance to finish this chapter. I made it extra long, just for you guys! I hope this satisfies you until I can upload another chapter. BTW, all of the stuff typed above this ^^ is all from when I started the chapter a week or two ago. In the beginning of October. OMG, Has anyone else read FINALE? My mind was blown! I won't give any spoilers, though. xD Yes, I read it. I'm still gonna stick with my plot, though, but I'll still stick in a few hints of FINALE in there. If you've read it, you'll recognize it. :) <strong>

**I think, with the turns in plot from FINALE, I might just have to make a sequel to LAL... What do you guys think? Yes, or no?**

**Review and let me know!**

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><p><em>Stop, stop, stop; here, rest here.<em>

My brain finally caught up with my body not too long after I ran away from the house. I could almost still hear them, shouting my name in the distance behind me. I slowed to a fast walk, my lungs burning with each breath I took. I hadn't run long, but I was more interested in finding a place to hide than putting too much distance between them and myself, yet. I had nowhere to go, after all.

"Find a place to hide," I muttered to myself as I walked. "Find a place to hide, find a place to hide!"

And then the farmhouse came into view. Of course; Blythe! In all the craziness of this switched parents business, I had completely forgotten about her. Suddenly, the farmhouse was looking like a beautiful sanctuary from all of this. I could stay _there._ They would never suspect that I would stay with someone they don't even know! It was perfect.

With the direction my thoughts were going, I was getting a rush of energy. I quickened my pace, leaving my speed-walk behind for a full out run. I got there in less than a minute, it wasn't even a mile. I may have been thinking all of these high-spirited, optimistic thoughts, but as I stood there behind the house staring up at it, I suddenly felt that maybe it wasn't such a good idea.

I'd barely met Blythe for the first time that day. I never even knew she had existed before then; I'd thought the house was abandoned. But the connection I'd felt with her, the feeling that I already knew her far more than just an acquaintance came to mind as I considered the idea again. I couldn't shake the feeling as I remembered it. I hoped she felt the same.

Biting my lip, I walked around the house, skirting the barn and rounding the corner to the front porch. Here it was: my opportunity. All I had to do was knock on the door and ask to stay. I took a deep breath. _Come on, Jarene,_ I chided myself. _You can do this._

I couldn't do this.

But I didn't give myself a chance to back out. I reached up and knocked on the door swiftly before I could think twice about it and waited anxiously, about to explode with nervous energy.

The door opened and Blythe peered out, almost cautiously. The second she caught sight of me, recognition dawned in her eyes, and her wrinkled face broke into a huge, happy grin. I smiled back uncertainly. She swung the door open further and stepped out, throwing her arms around me in a big, warm hug.

"Naomi!" she exclaimed happily. "You're back! It's so great to see you!" She pulled back, smiling at me. "Please, come inside. I just whipped up a batch of homemade blueberry pancakes. We can eat and sit down for a talk."

I stared at her, dumbfounded. "How did—," I began to say, but she cut me off.

"Oh, please, dear," she said with a roll of her eyes. "When my daughter was your age and had something important to talk about, she wore the exact same look on her face that you do now. Come on in; you can tell me anything and everything." She put her arm around my shoulders and led me inside her home, closing the door behind her.

The inside of the house smelt like burning wood, cinnamon, and old paper. These were some of my favorite smells; smells that brought me back to peaceful times and places. I felt at peace there, sitting at Blythe's dining table in her dining room, a plate of steaming blueberry pancakes sitting in front of me. Fresh fruit sat in a bowl between us; Blythe and I sat across from each other.

"Breakfast at lunchtime?" I asked, glancing at the clock mounted on the wall behind her. It was just about the time that I would be sitting at our table with Bryan and Sarah. Thinking about them brought back memories of what had occurred just an hour ago; being here with Blythe somehow managed to bring me to another time, another place where I was safe with this woman. She made me feel safe the way Patch and Nora had.

Blythe shrugged, bringing me out of my thoughts. "I eat whatever I feel like eating, whenever I feel like eating it. I usually eat pretty healthy, so it's not a problem with my health."

At that, I shrugged and dug into my pancakes; no sense in letting good food go to waste.

"So," Blythe said once we were finished. She paused, pushing aside her plate as she leaned on the table; elbows propped up to rest her chin on her hands. "What did you want to talk about?"

She asked the question so gently, so softly that I answered her honestly, my voice as soft as hers.

"My entire life was a lie."

Her expression didn't change; she didn't tell me I was just being an exaggerated teenager like I expected her to. She just leaned closer, her expression attentive as she stared at me. "Really. How so?"

And so the story began. I told her everything, minus the whole fallen angel-Nephilim thing. I withheld that, mostly because while I told Sarah and Bryan, I wanted to get to know Blythe a little better before I told her something so big and unbelievable.

All the while, her expression remained the same; calculating my every move and word, clinging to every word I said as it left my mouth, paying attention as I spilled my whole life story to her. It felt good to let it off my chest to someone I didn't really know; she could give me an unbiased opinion about it all.

"So, here I am," I concluded. I swallowed, wringing my hands nervously. "And I was wondering… if maybe you'd let me stay here for a couple of days. I mean, I'm not that far away, and I could still go to school and everything, I'd clean up after myself, provide my own clothes and stuff—I won't be a bother to you, I swear. And I won't stay long."

I looked at her hopefully, chewing on my bottom lip. Her expression looked surprised and delighted for one second—but then turned rueful and unhappy. She clicked her tongue and shook her head apologetically.

"I'm sorry, baby, I wish I could," she said, slight desperation apparent in her voice. "If they try looking for you, this is the first place they will come to. Trust me," she said at my confused and crestfallen expression, "they will. You will no doubt find out why."

"You can't just tell me?" What was with the world and keeping secrets from me?

"I'm sorry, no. I'd rather you find out. Just hopefully not in the way that you most likely will."

"What's that supposed to mean? Blythe," I breathed out a frustrated breath, "you're confusing me. Why would they come here? What do you have to do with it?"

"I promise you'll find out soon," she reassured me. I was anything but reassured, though. If anything, I was more suspicious. How could the world come to this, when I couldn't even trust my neighbor? I mean, the world had come to that a _long_ time ago, but still. I liked Blythe. How was she so sure that Patch and Nora would come here first? I didn't know; I wasn't sure I _wanted _to know.

"You can stay here for the night, honey," she said, "but if you really don't want to get caught, you'll have to keep moving. They sound like pretty persistent people, if you ask me." She sighed.

"Are you just kicking me out because you don't want to get mixed up in this if they call the police?" I couldn't help myself. I had to say it. My blunt tone made her look up at me—though it could also just have been my question.

She stared at me with something almost like disbelief on her face. "Honey," she said, and I thought I heard the hurt in her voice, "it breaks my heart to have to turn you away. But if you want to get caught and be the sitting duck, go on right ahead, but don't say I didn't tell you so. I don't care if they call the police. Police can't do anything to me, anyway. I just don't to see you get hurt. I've see what pain can do to people. Drives them insane sometimes. But you—you've been through some pretty rough times and seem pretty steady on your feet. You'll be fine. I know it.

"Like I said, you can stay here for the night. What you do next after that is all up to you."

I hate it when adults sound so wise and make you feel stupid and immature. They just have to rub it in your face, don't they? But of course, I knew she was right.

"Fine," I sighed. "I'll stay for tonight and find somewhere else to stay tomorrow."

"That's a girl." Blythe suddenly smiled proudly at me. "You know, I have a daughter who was just like you at this age."

I sat straighter, my curiosity piqued. "Really?"

"Yes. She even looked like you, too, kind of. Blue eyes, curly hair, long legs. She wasn't all sporty, but she was a straight 'A' student, had good friends, and went out. She had this crazy best friend back in high school that she sometimes got into trouble with, but it was all in fun. She is my only child, and she grew up to be a strong, fine woman. I couldn't be more proud of her. Of course, her decisions are another matter, but nonetheless, I'm still proud. She went through rough times, too."

I tried to get her to say more about it, but she wouldn't say another word on the subject no matter what. I finally gave up after several tries. We washed our dishes and I decided to call Bryan and Sarah and get them caught up on things. Sarah was in shock, and I couldn't exactly tell what Bryan's reaction was, because I'd called him while he was busy getting things out of his locker and he'd run to the bathroom to talk to me. I tried to be brief and simple, and I was, but he couldn't stay in the bathroom forever, so we hung up with quick goodbyes. Sarah was in history, and Mr. Fast hadn't been very lenient about it.

He had put the phone on speaker and told me to tell the class what we were talking about.

"Who is this?" he asked into the mouth piece.

"Uh, a friend," I replied, swallowing.

"What friend?"

"A friend who does not wish to speak their name, sir."

"Would you be so kind as to tell the class what we had to stop in the middle of the lesson for?"

"I'm not a very kind person, if you couldn't already tell." What a jerk teacher, right?

"What were you talking about?" he asked again firmly.

"I was just saying that her cousin had cancer, and that I was affirmed for chemotherapy!" I made my voice sound angry and frustrated over the phone. Then I pretended to sound nervous. "Uh, I mean, _she_ was affirmed for chemotherapy. Sorry, Sarah…"

She knew I was just saying all of that to make the teacher feel guilty. The entire classroom fell silent, and I imagined that Mr. Fast was blushing and looking guilty.

"I, uh, am sorry to hear that. Sarah, you may continue this conversation outside for another five minutes. I apologize."

"That's okay, Mr. Fast," I heard Sarah mumble brokenly. She was the best actress I knew. The phone was shuffled a bit, and I heard the beep of a button pressed, and the closing of a door.

"Dude," Sarah's voice was amazed and astounded. "That was so _epic_! I can't believe you told him off like that! What a story! The whole class was all quiet, and people were all like, 'I'm so sorry about your cousin' and stuff. I'm glad I'm a good actress, or I would've never been able to pass that off. So, you were saying?"

And I finished telling her what happened.

"Well, you know you can still hide in my tree house," Sarah offered when I finished. "I'm serious; nobody will ever look in there." She paused, and I heard her shiver over the phone. "Damn, it's getting colder and colder every day. It's September already, can you believe that? Just a few weeks more, and we'll be off of school for a whole week!"

"Yeah, I know." I was kind of dazed about it too. August and most of September had gone by so quickly. Soon it would be October, and after that came Thanksgiving in November. I didn't even know if I would celebrate it. I always stayed home with my parents and we would huddle together in front of the fireplace and just laugh and talk to each other. Back when things were easier. When I wasn't so confused about who and what I was.

"So you told Bryan already about this?" Sarah's voice jerked me out of my contemplations.

"Uh, yeah, I did. I had to be brief though, since it was during class switches," I answered. "He seemed okay about it, though. Except when I told him about the knife thing, but he calmed down a bit when I told him nobody got hurt."

My voice was tight as I spoke about it. A part of me was absloutely horrified that I'd come _that__ close_ to actually stabbing Patch with a knife. A little voice in the back of my head spoke to me when I threw it, trying to relieve me of the gut-wrenching guilt I felt over it.

_He wouldn't have felt it,_ the voice had said. _He would've healed. You weren't going to hit him, anyway. You needed to get away. That's all._

But that wasn't all. I couldn't just dismiss this like I just accidentally spilled something on his shirt (which, by the way, I would feel totally guilty about, too). I had thrown a _knife_ at him. Purposely. I would've never forgiven myself if it had hit him. I couldn't hurt him. I just couldn't.

"I guess I'll see you when school's over then," I told Sarah over the phone. We had lapsed into a thoughtful silence, both of us in our own worlds.

"Okay, see you then."

We hung up. I felt pretty worked up about this whole incident and felt the sudden urge to run, just get up and run somewhere else where I could think. I felt like I was imposing on Blythe anyway, so I got up to tell her I'd be back later.

"Alright, just don't stay out too long," she called from the kitchen as I walked in the opposite direction.

"'Kay!" And with that, I walked out the door and jumped over the porch steps, literally hitting the ground running. I ran into the woods farther off, away from the farmhouse, away from my house, and away from normal civilizations.

Into the woods. The one place I truly felt at peace and able to think. The scent of pine and oak cleared my head and organized my thoughts like invisible hands reaching into my brain and parting the haze of jaumbled thoughts in there.

_This one goes over here, that one goes over there, oh, and this one goes in here..._

The familiar tightening of my muscles in my legs was reassuring as I ran through the woods at my usual five-minute-mile pace. Here in the woods, I could face myself, had no one to face _but_ myself; and that was usually what I did. Like I was doing now. I was firing questions and arguments back and forth inside my head, taking advantage of the surely temporary clarity that was instilled in my mind.

_How could you do that? _part of my mind screamed at me. _How could you throw a knife at Patch?_

_I wasn't thinking, alright?! _I launched back. _I was under pressure, and _nobody _can think when under pressure._

_Oh, what a lame, half-ass excuse,_ she sneered back at me. _You know that it was uncalled for. What you did was on you own volition. Why can't you just listen and do what people tell you for once?_

_I don't know! But if you're blaming me, you're basically blaming yourself, _I told her.

_Don't even try to blame anyone! You have no one else to thank but yourself. I may be part of you, but I have nothing to do with the part that wanted to knife him! Really, Naomi! How could you? He's your _father!

**_I know! _**

I dropped to the ground in pain, clutching my head as I curled into a ball on the forest floor. Those two words seemed to echo around in my head, so much weight they carried. The other voice seemed silenced for the most part, but our conversation never left me. Everything was true. Blaming it on pressure _was_ a half-ass excuse. I _had_ thrown the knife at Patch on my own volition; it had been my choice to do it.

I tried to knife him. My own... _father._

I shuddered involuntarily on the ground, still curled in my protective ball. This was a definite turning-point. For the first time, I admitted it. Patch was my father. My biological father. I almost knifed my father.

_God, what have I done?_

I didn't get an answer, but then again, I didn't expect one. I was too closed off in my thoughts. In fact, so closed up was I, that I didn't even notice the sound of footsteps coming toward me until they were almost ten feet from me. A chilling cold feeling crawled up my skin, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood straight on end. Instinct told me to climb up the nearest tree.

So I did. Who was I to argue with my instinct. Truth be told, it wasn't instinct that told me to throw the knife. That really was my own choice.

Before the guilt could overwhelm me completely again, the owner of the footsteps came into view. A man, very tall and Italian looking, with dark hair and dark eyes was walking briskly through the woods. He kept turning his head, as if looking for something, but I didn't know what. He stopped abruptly. A chill went up my spine when I saw that it was the exact same spot that I had been lying on not even five minutes ago. The man stared at the ground as if trying to scowl answers out of it. He let go of a frustrated breath, and moved a little more out of my vision. I leaned over in the tree, stepping on the branch just a little more to see-

And missed the branch completely. My stomach lurched into my throat, and I had to hold in a yelp to keep from making noise as the ground suddenly grew closer to me. But I caught myself just in time on another branch, pulling in closer to the trunk of the tree. I made some noticeable noises when I almost fell; the fact that I heard nothing from behind me made my heart pound faster and harder in my chest. Sweat beaded along my brow, and I scrambled for something, anything to save myself. Something told me that this man's intentions were anything but benign.

A heavy stick poked into my hand, and I saw my chance of escape. I carefully and silently broke it off of the bigger branch, and weighed it in my hand. Heavy enough to go far if I threw it and make an impact; a distraction. Praying hard, I threw the stick as hard as I could into the woods through the trees. I was amazed; I watched, dumbfounded, as the stick sailed through the air, _way_ farther than I had even intended it to fly. Some thrity seconds later, I heard it land; a large rustle of leaves sounded about fifty to sixty feet away from me. I looked down-and nearly fell of my branch again. The man was directly below me, his head turned in the direction of the stick's landing place.

He immediately ran after it, disappearing in the blink of an eye. I couldn't follow him after he was gone. I knew in that moment, just like I had when I sensed him, that he wasn't human. He was... Nephilim. I could tell.

I let go of a shuddering, relieved breath, and dropped to the floor, landing in a crouch. I had to get home before something else happened. Without another glance back, I turned on my heel and ran for all I was worth.

* * *

><p>"Patch, are you sure you're okay?" Nora asked for the what Patch thought was the millionth time. And just like the time before that, he answered her with the same response.<p>

"Yes, I'm fine. She didn't get me."

He wasn't going to lie, though; the whole incident with the knife had shaken him up pretty badly. He should've known not to push Naomi so far. Pressure could do crazy things to people. He'd seen the resutls of it firsthand. But he was so driven by the need to protect his daughter at all costs that all his old rules and cautions flew out the window.

"I can't believe we didn't see that coming," Vee muttered from her seat on Naomi's bed. Nobody had left the room since the incident over two hours ago. Scott sat beside her; Patch couldn't remember a time since he'd first visited them three months ago when they'd both not been together when in the same room. Their relationship kind of reminded him of his and Nora's. Bonded together by an oath more powerful than any other, he and Nora would forever be together, happy and in love. Patch knew that for certain.

"I can't believe I left my knife on the table," Scott countered, sounding glum.

"I really feel like we should go look for her," Nora said. Her voice carried so much worry that it brought even more to the surface of Patch's emotions. He may not have been able to feel touch or sensation, but his emotions were fair game. He was constantly reminded. "What if she got hurt somewhere, or needs something?"

"She won't ask us for anything if she needs it," Vee said; she sounded so certain. "She'll go to Sarah's. Which, brings me to a confession I have to make." Patch's eyes were instantly glued to the guilty and sheepish expression on her face, analyzing her every word and move.

"What did you do?" He spoke calmly, but it didn't take a rocket scientist to see that he was wary. His warning tone said it all.

"I didn't... _do _anything, per se," she hedged. Nora cut her off.

"Vee, just get to it, please."

"I got in touch with her yesterday without telling you guys." She winced, as if waiting for an onslaught of insults and shouts at her. Encouraged by the silence that followed, she continued. "I spoke to her on Sarah's phone, tried to get her to come back, but she wouldn't. She told me that if we went after her and tried to bring her back, she might hate us. She didn't want to be found. She said she wanted time to figure things out on her own. I think that's why she had this outburst."

There was a brief moment of silence... and then the protests started.

"What?! How could you do this behind our backs?!"

"We trusted you! Why?"

"Vee, why would you do that? She's our daughter! _Our _daughter!"

The last one came from Nora, and seemed to cause the most impact on Vee. She sat up straight-she'd cowered under the weight of the onslaught of shouts-and looked at Nora. She had so much sincerity and regret in her eyes.

"I am so sorry, Nora," Vee sniffed. "I was just trying to get her to come back. I didn't think it would be so bad. I didn't expect her to not want to leave after you told her about the assasins. I didn't expect any of this to happen. I just wanted her to know the truth. This is all my fault!"

Despite the circumstances, Patch felt a little part of him agree. If she had just minded her own business, none of this would've happened. She should've let him and Nora handle it.

_But when would that have happened?_ a voice spoke up in his mind. _If it weren't for her, you never would've come out to see your daughter. You would've just kept watching from a distance, like you have for the past sixteen years. _

The voice was right. Coming out to see Naomi probably wouldn't have happened without Vee's insistance. He would've kept watching from the sidelines, satisfying himself with pictures of the years and events in Naomi's life that were captured in shiney paper, never getting to experience the real thing. He'd missed so much. And Vee had helped change that; he wouldn't have to miss any more, thanks to her.

"No, Vee," he found himself saying. He almost couldn't believe that he was saying it; and from the looks of shock on the others' faces, they couldn't either. "You are right; it is your fault. It's your fault that I got to meet my daughter for the first actual time in sixteen years. It's your fault that she grew up so healthy and strong and beautiful. It's your fault that she got to know the truth. It's your fault that I got to hug her, got to actually hug her since she was born. All of these wonderful things are all because of you.

"Thank you, Vee. I couldn't thank you enough for all the things you've done for us."

For a moment, Vee was silent, in shock. Then, she sniffled loudly and nodded at him. "You're welcome," she muttered.

Before anyone could say anything else, Nora's cellphone rang. Her face scrunched up in confusion, and Patch knew why; only he, Scott, and Vee had her number. She dug the phone out of her pocket, and answered it.

"Hello?"

"Nora Grey," a sickeningly familiar voice said from the other end. Patch felt anger and annoyance creep into his mood. "It's been a long while. How ya been?"

Nora's eyes widened. Patch felt dizzy all of a sudden, wary and weary. _Great. Just great. _

Nora whispered one name, a single name that brought back plenty of old memories. "Dante."

* * *

><p>"Blythe! I'm home! Are you still here?" I shut the front door behind me as I entered the house, comfortably. Already it felt comfortable here, easy to be myself; not that that was doing much. I was usually quiet, drawing in my room or outside in the back yard.<p>

I received no answer to my call. I ventured further into the house, not finding her in the living room, the kitchen, or anywhere else. I wandered back down to the kitchen, biting gently on my thumbnail. Where could she be?

My eyes landed on the counter. Stuck to the counter top behind the turkey-shaped salt and pepper shakers was a sticky note with neatly messy handwriting on it. It was addressed to me.

_Naomi,_ it read. _By the time you read this, I'll already be out. I just went to the store to buy groceries. I'll be back in a little while. Help yourself to whatever I've got if you need or want anything. What's mine is yours. :) _

_-Blythe_

I chewed my lip briefly. What was I to do now?

I felt a light pull leading me upstairs. It pulled at me gently, like limp, invisible hands trying to get me to go upstairs. It was subtle, so subtle I almost didn't feel it. But I did, so I decided I had nothing to lose and followed it. The closer I went to the stairs, the stronger the pull felt. It was gravitational, leading me up the stairs and down the hall to the end, and into a room to my left. I hesitated outside the door. The pull was so strong here. I turned the doorknob and went inside.

The bedroom was neat and tidy. Lavander sheets and covers adorned the bed, and the fireplace was empty and clean of soot. I could tell nothing had been burned for a long time in there. But as surprising as that was, there were signs of fire all over the room. On the walls, the floor, the window; all burned and charred black. It made me wonder what must've happened for all of it to get this way.

I walked further in the room, the door drifting shut behind me. I ran my fingers along the burned parts, following them like the lines of a map. They spiked out from the fireplace, forking and curving and crossing all over; up the walls to the ceiling, along the walls nearest to it, on the back of the door, underneath and around the window. Everywhere. The floor creaked under my weight, and I held my breath as if that would make me lighter. My fingers throbbed with a slight burn when I withdrew them from the walls, almost as if the house were sharing its pain with me.

There was nothing here, though. Why had the pulling sensation led me here? What was there for me to see? The burned parts? I didn't know. I shook my head, sighing. I shouldn't even have followed the pull anyway. Just as I turned to leave, however, the pull intensified ten-fold, and I heard my name whispered omniously, a ghost of a voice.

_Naomi..._

I whirled around, my heart skipping a beat. Okay, could someone have died in here? Someone who knew my _name?_

Whatever it was, it was forcing me to stay in the room. I was glued to the floor where I stood. I knew I should've felt alarmed, but I honestly didn't. At least, not too much. My eyes were suddenly drawn to a chest resting at the foot of Blythe's bed. It had to be Blythe's room; nobody else lived in the house. I slowly stepped closer to the chest, kneeling down before it. I hesitated there, though. I was torn between following what the mysterious force wanted me to do, and being courteous and respecting Blythe's privacy. Before I could let my conscience stop me, I found myself flipping up the hatch on the chest and pushing it open, revealing what was inside.

What I found inside the chest was typical; expected. Old books, clothes, photo albums. Nothing particularly of any importance to me. Why was the force pushing me to do this? What was going on? I expelled a frustrated sigh, pushing myself into a standing position. What a waste of time.

_Naomi..._

I whirled around agian, half scared, half annoyed. "What?" I muttered.

_The chest..._

I looked down at it. It looked exactly like it had five seconds ago. Except, I realized with incredulity, that there was something sticking out of it, something that hadn't been there before. I fell to my knees, carefully extracting the thin object. A photograph.

Of... _me._ At three years old on a bicycle. Scott was standing behind me, hands poised close together, about to clap. He was grinning proudly at me, and I looked ecstatic on my bike, my little three-year-old self having the time of her life. It was an old photo. One I didn't remember Vee or Scott taking or sending to anyone.

I opened the trunk again, this time feeling around the sides for bumps or rips. I glanced up at the chest's lid-and found a little tear in the thin, pastel green covering that covered the entire inside of the trunk. A hidden pocket. It took up the whole indented dome part of the trunk lid, and I wondered how I hadn't noticed it the first time.

I tore open the rest of the paper from the tear that was already there. A whole stack of pictures, colored and black and white, fell out and onto the other stuff in the trunk. I swiped it up and was about to close the trunk, but I heard the rumbling of a car engine pulling into the driveway. I reacted instinctlively; I snatched the pictures out of the trunk, slammed the lid down, and ran out of the room and down the stairs.

I imagined I looked too guilty to look Blythe in the eye, so I ran out the back door before she could come in and find me. I stood there for a few seconds with my back against the back door, breathing heavily. Oh, Lord; I was in _such_ big trouble.

I had to find a place where I could look at these pictures in private. Where to go, though? I refused to go back into the woods, especially since I came across that guy. I couldn't go home; obviously. Sarah was still at school. Where could I _go?_

_The barn._

Thank you, mysterious voice. The barn was right behind the house; perfect place to hide as long as Blythe didn't come looking in there after me. I ran over to it, opening the door and slamming it shut behind me, leaning my forehead on it. I breathed harshly, more from guilt and worry than exhaustion. I sighed, turning around and opening my eyes, pictures immediately forgotten at the sight. To say I was surprised would've been putting it lightly.

There was furniture in here. _Real furniture. _I couldn't believe my eyes. A bed in the far right corner, a few chairs scattered around, clothes, drawers; a whole collage of different types of furniture all over the barn. A lamp on a stool, probably serving as a nightstand. A suitcase sat half under the bad and half out of it. I was also zipped half closed, revealing the hard-bound cover of what looked like a giant photo album.

_Look._

So the voice wanted me to snoop twice today. Fine.

I walked over to the bed and pulled the suitcase out from under the bed, checking to see what else was in there; some clothes, nothing else important. The photo album was what caught my attention.

I flipped it open. There was the standard _This book of memories belongs to: (insert name here) _thing printed in fancy font on the first paper page. I stared at what was written in neat cursive on the line where the name was supposed to go. Written there was not a name, but at date.

_August twenty-third, nineteen-ninty-five._

My birthdate.

My heart pounded faster in my chest. I flipped to the next page, wiping my sweaty palms on my jeans. The next page held a document behind a thin sheet of plastic to keep picutres safe behind. A birth certificate. _Cipriano, Naomi Jarene_ was written on the name line. My birthdate was written on the birthdate line. My other information was written on the following labeled lines; weight, length, and my foot print beside it all. My hands were trembling, my breathing shallow.

Next page. Pictures were there this time. Pictures of an infant, a little baby girl with her eyes shut. Beside that, a picture of the same infant with her eyes open. Grey eyes. _My _eyes. Beside that was a picture of Nora, looking bedraggled and haggard, but with a brilliant smile on her face showing that she didn't care. In her arms was the same baby. That baby was me, I supposed. My head spun just admitting it in my head.

The next few pictures were mostly of my baby self, but when I flipped the page over, my eyes zeroed in on one picture immediately. It was of Patch, sitting on a couch, with me in his arms. He looked so happy, frightened, and nervous to be holding me. I was so small in his arms, so fragile-looking. He gazed down at me in pure adoration and love, his expression awed. My eyes stung with tears. I turned to the next page before they could fall.

The pictures of them with me stopped after one with Nora, Patch, and me all together. They held me between them, smiling at the camera happily. I was just lying there, drooling on my clothes and staring into the camera. The next pictures were of myself alone, a little older than before, with more hair and bigger features. There were several of me laughing and frowning and crying; even some of me in the bathtub, those kinds of pictures that every teenager thinks are embarrassing and every parent loves to take. Some with my hair sticking up in weird angles and bubbles in weird fashions.

As I flipped pages, I realized it was like a documentation of me getting older. Me at five years old on my first day of kindergarten after preschool. Getting out of kindergarten at the end of the year. Vacation pictures of the summer before school. First grade, my spelling bee, my graduation from the first grade. And birthdays. Every single birthday picture was in here. There were occasional pictures of me in weird places, too.

On my way to school in a plaid skirt and blazer with a vest and a navy blue head band; third grade. I couldn't believe all of these pictures. It was obvious who the album belonged to, and who lived here in the barn. I kept going through the album. I got older with each page. Here I was, six years old on four pages and seven on the next four. The pages had many slots for many pictures; I had a feeling there were even more pictures somewhere else, not in the album. My breathing was both shallow and fast, my palms very sweaty.

I finally reached more recent pictures. A picture of me on my sixteenth birthday, a few months ago before Patch and Nora walked into my life. Vee was in the picture too, smiling at the camera. Scott was in the next one, holding me tightly from behind. I smiled happily at the camera, but I noticed something. I had a weird look in my eyes, almost as if I were confused. Distant. Wondering. I never noticed looking like that before.

The next page was another one of those weird pictures; there were quite a few in here. I was playing basketball in second period, dribbling the ball in my gym shorts and t-shirt. I had a concentrated look on my face, fierce and determined. I remembered that day faintly. It was such a normal day. The way my life used to be. There were several other pictures like this. Pictures that I didn't remember being taken. Me getting into my car for school one morning. Me dropping Sarah off at her house. Me swinging in the tire swing on the tree in our front yard. And Sarah and I decorating her willow tree last Christmas.

All of these pictures explained one thing. Patch and Nora had kept them all, had never come to me to meet me, or know me, or anything. They kept to themselves, not letting me know that I'd lived my entire short life without my real parents. I'd lived the life of a stranger without even knowing it.

They were watching from the sidelines all along. I never knew it, but they were. Taking pictures and keeping up with my life through images instead of the real thing. They knew what they were missing and didn't once try in all sixteen years that they'd been missing from my life to contact me or reach out to me.

The tears finally fell. They landed on the back of my left hand, and I swiped under my eye to brush them away. No. _No. _I wasn't going to cry about this. I couldn't, wouldn't. I had to be strong.

I gathered up the pictures, preparing to leave, but decided at the last second to do something crazy. I grabbed the album out of the suitcase again and flipped it to a page, taking out one picture from the many others there. It would definitely be hard to miss if they looked in there anytime soon. I slipped the photo into my back pocket and stuffed the suitcase and album back under the bed. I ran out the barn just as a back entrance I hadn't noticed swung open. On the other side of the barn doors, I peered in carefully. Patch and Nora flopped down on the bed, sighing at the same time. I backed away from the barn as fast as I could without making noise and ran back into the house.

Blythe was putting away the last of the groceries in the kitchen. She smiled at me when I came in. I couldn't stay here. I had to leave. They were living _behind her house! _Suddenly, her warning made sense. This was obviously the first place they would go.

"Hey, honey," she greeted me. Before she could say anything else, she caught sight of my tear-stained cheeks and her expression turned concerned. "Honey, what happened?"

I slipped the photos I'd found and looked at from her trunk out of my other back pocket and slapped them on the counter. She looked at them, confused, and then froze, recognition dawning on her face.

She looked back at me. I lookd at her straight in the eye, desperately trying not to let my face crumple into tears. As it was, my voice sounded strained and thick when I spoke.

"How?"

One of the ever-present questions on my mind.

* * *

><p><strong>There! An update! Please, review! And please excuse any mistakes. No time for spellcheck! :P<strong>

**~Alee V.**


	13. Chapter 12

**Okay. I have some time. I know it's 2013, but I'm still on lockdown with my laptop, thanks to my dear cousin, Not-So-Golden-Girl-After-All. (If you've read my dislikes on my profile, that will make sense xD) I will still be updating as regularly as I can, so no worries. **

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed! I really appreciate it! We're up to 61 reviews! That's awesome! We've managed to catch up to my first fanfiction, the one for Twilight. What's sad is that Twilight is a bigger community in fanfiction; Hush, Hush isn't as widely known. Y'all managed to kick Vampire butt! Let's be proud of that. :) **

**For this chapter, how about we aim for, at least, 67+! I know we can do it. Even though you might be mad at me for taking so long to update. xD**

**Please read and review this chapter! I love youuuus! **

**Also - please read the A/N down at the bottom! Some important stuff down there and also a huge apology with your names on it! :S**

**Enjoy~**

* * *

><p>Blythe stayed quiet. I could see the blood rising to her cheeks. The more time that passed, the harder it was to not breakdown in a total sobfest. I took a deep breath.<p>

"Blythe," I said. "Answer me. How do you have these pictures?"

"I think the better question," Blythe said; she tried to sound stern, but I could hear the uncertainty in her voice, "would be, how do _you_ have them?"

I glared at her. "I asked you first." My tone was sharp and cutting.

She looked down, saying nothing for a while. She traced her finger on the smooth table surface, shaking her head; her shoulders seemed to shake with quiet, humorless laughter.

"I should've known you'd be more like her than I thought," Blythe said tiredly. I got the feeling she was talking more to herself than to me. "I didn't know what to expect. I've never met you. I've only gotten pictures." She gestured weakly at the stack of pictures on the table. "You're far more curious than she was when she lived here. God, you're so much like her..."

Now she was just mumbling. I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, a sense of dread like I knew what she was talking about.

"Blythe, who are you talking about?" Despite the question, I wasn't sure I wanted to know.

She looked up at me, her eyes boring into mine. "Your eyes," she whispered. "You have her eyes."

My knees buckled. I fell hard to the floor, not even registering the ache in my legs from the impact. I couldn't breathe, couldn't think straight. Blythe. Blythe _Grey. _

_"I have a daughter..." _

_"You even look a little like her. Blue eyes, curly hair, long legs..."_

Blythe Grey was my grandmother.

"No," I wheezed. "Not you, too." I hugged myself, arms crossing in an X across my chest as if holding myself together. Quite fitting, as my world was crumbling apart right under my shoes.

Suddenly Blythe was next to me, kneeling on the floor. She took my face in my hands, making me look her in the eye. I couldn't have moved my head if I'd wanted to; her grip was like iron.

"Now you have to listen to me, Naomi," she said; her voice was thick with emotion, yet still firm. "I have loved you from the moment I saw you. I never saw you in person, but the second I saw the first picture, I was sold. I loved you with everything I had. Don't let anyone, even yourself, tell you otherwise. Ever since that day the photos came in the mail, I've wanted to meet you. I never knew they sent you to live with Vee and Scott until you told me that day. I thought you'd lived with them this whole time. Remember what I said to you when you told me your name?"

Dazed and lightheaded, I nodded.

"I thought maybe they told you everything. But I was wrong. Before I met you, I didn't think I could love a person so much, especially when I'd never even met them before. I knew I loved you more than life in itself, but when I met you in person, really _you_, I realized that what I'd been feeling was only the tip of the iceberg. I only loved you even more."

She sniffled. "I know you're angry, scared, confused, and hurt. Believe me, when Nora had to leave and live on the run from all those assassins who wanted to kill her, I was too. But your parents love you too. Those sixteen years must've been hell for them; it would be hell for any parent. Just- don't _not_ forgive them. By not forgiving them, you're hurting yourself more than you're hurting them."

I finally found my voice. "But there's a difference between you and them," I croaked.

"And what's that?"

"You took the time to tell me all this right away. They didn't. And I've seen them twice since then, and listened to most of what they had to say."

Blythe opened her mouth to say something, but then closed it, frowning. I'd stumped her.

"I can't stay here." I imagined my eyes looked empty, devoid of light and hope, just like my voice. I felt hollow inside, my mental defense system already trying to push away the pain that just kept adding up. Sooner or later, it would break. Sooner or later, _I _would break.

And before that happened, I needed to get somewhere safe. Strangely enough, Sarah's treehouse wasn't looking so silly anymore.

Blythe had reacted unexpectedly to my words. Fear eclipsed her features, as if the thought of me leaving was terrifying. "What?" she sounded incredulous and scared. "But where will you go? What will you do? You can't just go out in the world like that; especially not now when it's so dangerous for you to be out there now. There will be people out there who want to _kill_ you, Naomi. If there aren't already. Word of you being alive will spread faster than the speed of light. You can't risk it. Please don't."

I looked into her eyes and realized, with a startled jolt, that Blythe - I couldn't even begin to think of her as _grandmother_ - was actually _pleading _me to stay. She wasn't forcing me, or telling me what to do. She was leaving the choice up to me. My eyes stung with tears again. I'd only just found out that this woman was my grandmother, my actual flesh and blood; we'd only seen each other all of two times, and already she had enough faith in me to let me handle something so big and important on my own. I couldn't believe it.

"I have to," I told her gravely. I sounded years older suddenly. I reached up and covered her hands with mine. They felt soft and calloused, her veins prominent under my fingers. I squeezed them once, and then pulled them off of my face, letting them fall to her sides. Standing up, I walked straight and tall right out the door and into the cold, not even pausing as I turned and continued down the driveway and on the gravel road.

About an hour of walking later, the sun began to sink toward the horizon. I was almost to Sarah's house, having walked the whole way instead of running. For some reason, I hadn't thought to walk on streets with sidewalks; I kept walking along the road, ignoring the cars as they drove beside me. The closer I came to her house, the less frequently the cars came. So I was pretty wary when a sleek black Camero slowed down to a crawl beside me, following me as I walked.

I ignored it, hoping there wasn't some pedophile rapist in there hoping to convince me into the car. The automatic windows rolled down, revealing something potentially worse:

Keith.

"Hey," he said, nodding his head at me.

I stared straight ahead, but nodded in his direction.

"Are you alright?" I couldn't figure out if the concern in his voice was genuine or fake. "You look like you've been crying."

I uncrossed my arms and swiped under my eyes. Sure enough, my fingers came away wet, glistening with tears I'd been unconciously crying. I resisted the urge to curse, and instead just crossed my arms again.

"Look," Keith said; his tone made me stop walking and turn to look at him. "I know you don't trust me, but I'm not going to leave you out here in the cold. Besides that, I think it might start raining in a bit. Just get in the car, and I'll take you wherever you need to go, no questions asked. Sound good?"

It didn't sound good, actually. I didn't trust myself around Keith. And he was right, I didn't trust him, either. But, glancing up at the quickly darkening sky, I really didn't seem to have much of a choice. I couldn't call anybody, I didn't have a rain jacket - or my backpack, come to think of it - and I didn't have transportation. He'd cornered me in a weak spot.

I stood there silently for a few seconds, sniffling. There was nothing I could do. I nodded to myself, as if to seal the deal, and climbed into the car. Keith rolled up the window and started driving at the speedlimit, going much faster than I was going at my walking rate. For a few moments, it was awkwardly silent. Then he spoke, softer and gentler than anything I'd ever heard.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

I just sat there in the passenger seat, cold and shivering and numb, trying to stop sniffling. I had my knees pulled up to my chest, arms wrapped around them so tightly my arms were shaking. I'd never felt so unraveled, so out of control of my emotions in my whole life. Mutely, I shook my head, and I heard him release the softest of sighs.

"Whatever it is, I'm sure it can get better. And do you know how I know that?"

I turned my head to look at him, resting my cheek against my knees. I raised my eyebrows in question.

"I know that because you are one of the strongest people I've ever met. You can get through anything. Okay? Don't cry anymore. It'll be all right." Keith shifted one hand off the wheel and hesitantly brought it to rest on my shoulder. Underneath the cold fabric of my shirt, his hand felt scorching hot on my freezing cold skin. Yet I didn't shake it off.

Looking back, I probably should have. I shouldn't have let him touch me. I should've known it would only make my resolve weaker. But there was this feeling inside of me, this feeling that had nothing to do with him, that just wanted me to... give up. To just let go, once and for all. It sapped at my will, like a leech sucking blood, weakening me and leaving me limp with no power or freewill.

His touch did just that. I felt it immediately. My body felt like jelly, melting under his touch like ice; solid one second, liquid the next. I felt drained of energy, and my eyelids felt heavy with sleep. But just as I felt the change, I felt the fear settle in just as immediately. I hated this feeling, hated how drunk I seemed to become in his presence. Why did that happen all the time? What did it mean? Why was it that I felt like I was _dying_ everytime I was near Keith?

It was absolutely unfathomable. It was absolutely frightening. Yet I still didn't shake his hand off. I just buried my face in my arms.

Again, I heard him sigh. He removed his hand from my shoulder on his own. Then he asked me, "Where're you headed?"

"Just drop me off here," I whispered. We were at the mouth of Sarah's neighborhood. I could see the willow tree from where he parked.

For some strange reason, I didn't get out of the car as soon as he parked near the sidewalk. I sat there quietly for a few breaths, wondering why I hadn't gotten out of the car yet. But then Keith spoke, halting any and all thoughts in my head.

"Are you sure you don't want to talk about it? You seem really conflicted right now. I feel useless, not being able to help." I couldn't tell if the concern in his voice was fabricated or real; it was horrible disconcerting; and at that moment, the fogginess in my brain seized me with more force.

I don't know what possessed me to do what I did next; I don't know what happened at all. But all of a sudden, an overwhelming, _crushing_ grief overtook me; the tears streamed down my cheeks like a waterfall, and loud, harsh sobs wracked my body with a force I didn't know I was capable of. I spun out of control from myself in that moment. Then I leaned over and buried my face into Keith's chest, sobbing into his t-shirt and wrapping my arms around his torso beneath his leather jacket. Part of my mind was reeling with shock and revulsion at what I was doing. But the majority of my mind was clouded over with fogginess and a grief I'd never known until just a few days ago.

Keith stiffened momentarily at my sudden transformation, but then relaxed and wrapped his arms around me too, one hand stroking my hair; after a few seconds, he started murmuring soft assurrances to me in Spanish. Just like he did whenever I was upset when we were dating, years ago. The familiarity of his voice, his accent, his warm embrace, his familiar smell of cologne and - surpisingly - my old perfume that I used to wear around him; it all seemed to instantly soothe me, calming down my sobs and my mind.

The revulsion I'd had dissipated like seafoam by a wave. The fogginess slowly began to clear. Memories of those five months streamed into my mind lightly, a sort of warm halo surrounding every smile, every laugh, every kiss... It also triggered a feeling of irritation in me. My mind was remembering every good thing that had happened in our relationship, but it was forgetting every _bad _thing. All the fighting, the anger, the betrayal.

And just like that, the revulsion was back. I tensed up and pulled away from him, sniffling and rubbing my fingers under my eyes to get rid of the tears. "Sorry," I whispered to him in the silence of the car. Gone now was the fogginess that had taken over my mind. I could see and think clearly now, and one thing was for sure: I needed to get out of this car.

"It's all right," Keith whispered soothingly. Hesitantly, he touched my shoulder with his hand; feeling a little guilty at my earlier behavior, I allowed it. "I'm here for you. Anytime. My number hasn't changed. Call me if you need anything. I'm free anytime for you."

Feeling a little suffocated in the suddenly awkward - for me, anyway - atmosphere of the car, I nodded. "Thank you. For the ride and... stuff." I swallowed.

"No problem. See you around?"

"Yeah. Bye." Hurriedly, I climbed out of the car and into the light mist that had started a few minutes ago. It felt good on my hot, clammy face. I turned back and waved tentatively at Keith; I wasn't sure if he saw me, thanks to the tinted windows, but he honked the horn, and then drove away, leaving me on the sidewalk in the pouring rain.

I blew out a conflicted sigh, running my hands through my hair. There was no explanation for what had happened to me back there in the car, and it scared me. I didn't - _couldn't _- trust myself when Keith was around. No matter how many times I braced myself, I was still surprised at how much he affected me.

I shook my head; that didn't matter now. He was gone. I just had to get to Sarah's house and change out of these clothes so I wouldn't get sick. With that thought, I turned on my heel and jogged the rest of the way to Sarah's house.

Later, I would want to laugh at Sarah's surprised face when she saw me dripping wet on her doorstep. Later, I would feel warm inside at the sound of Bryan's voice on Sarah's phone talking to me, trying to bring me out of my own world. Later, I would look back on all these things and _feel _something about them. I was all numbness with the discovery of this afternoon. It was all I could think of - that night, and the two weeks that came after. Did Blythe tell Patch and Nora that I knew about her? Would she tell them where I was? What _would_ she do? What would she say? What did she think of her coward granddaughter, running away from all of her problems, just like she knew best?

It was amazingly calm for the next two weeks. Too calm. With the life I had just discovered I had, I should've known better. I should've known that any calm in my life would be the calm before the storm.

* * *

><p>"Okay, Naomi, this is going to be a quick in, quick out thing, you got it? No wasting time, okay?"<p>

The sound of Sarah's hushed voice, rough with static, startled me out of my concentration. I unclipped the small walkie-talkie from the waistline of my jeans and pressed the small button on the side to talk.

"Yes, Sarah, I know. In case you haven't noticed, I want to be here a hundred times less than you do." I lifted my finger off the button to hear her reply.

"Right. Sorry. The roads appear clear from here; silent, in fact. You may proceed."

I rolled my eyes. "As if I need your permission," I replied, pressing the button. There was silence on the other end of the radio.

Then, "Like _hell_ you need my permission! I am vital to this opperation here, okay? I'm the one who can tell you when they're coming while you're busy getting your stuff! Just hurry up, okay? I feel nervous just sitting out here parked on the side of the street." Her voice turned to a whine in her last words.

I said, "I know, _of course_ you're vital to this opperation. I need you. You are my eyes right now. But I need you to only talk to me when you see them coming for sure, okay?"

"Got it. You just... go do your thing, I guess."

I was doing it. I was finally doing it. After two weeks of borrowing other people's books and borrowing some of Sarah's clothes, I was finally going to break in and steal my clothes and backpack before _they _got home. I finally broke this morning when I had to wear a _neon_ _pink_ shirt to school today. The experience was terrible. The stares, the giggles behind hands, the slight widening of Bryan's eyes when he saw me walking toward him in the halls this morning. He'd recovered his composure pretty quickly, but not quickly enough for me not to notice it. It was totally and completely mortifying.

So I was breaking into my house to steal my backpack back and some more clothes while _they _were out shopping for groceries. It amazed me how normal they were acting while this was going on. What happened? Did they get over it already? What happened to "You're in danger" mode? Was it that easy to forget all of this? If it was so easy, then why couldn't _I_ let it go?

I snapped myself out of these thoughts and proceeded to creep over to the front door. I stole a peek to both sides in my peripheral vision. Nobody on the right. Nobody on the left. Strangely quiet for a Friday afternoon, but eh. I mentally shrugged. It was more beneficial to me anyway.

Unlocking the door with the spare key from the birdfeeder, I let myself inside, locking the door behind me. The house was silent and empty. I couldn't hear or sense anybody in the house. I walked silently to the living room. It looked much the same as before; the only difference was some papers and little booklets on the coffee table. Moving on, I soundlessly climbed the stairs, tense and acutely listening for any noises.

My bedroom was the same as the living room. Nothing had changed. My drawings still loitered the floor, my closet door was still open, and there was still broken glass near my window. The only thing that was different was the blue tarp hung loosely over the window, flapping slightly with the breeze. Not wanting to dwell on the memories _that_ brought, I crossed the room to my closet and got down to business. I unslung the duffel bag from my shoulder and started stuffing more clothes from my closet; more shirts, jeans, socks, and underwear. Just as I was about to turn away from the nearly empty closet, a scrap of red in my peripheral vision caught my eye and made me freeze.

There on a hanger in the back of my closet behind a few old blouses was a dress; it was one-shouldered, figure-hugging, knee-length, and had a little bit of lacing on the hem that made movement quite noticeable. I stared at it for a few seconds. On impulse, I snatched the dress from the hanger and stuffed it into the duffel with my other clothes. Before I could change my mind, I pulled the zipper shut.

Now that getting clothes was done with, I just had to get my backpack from the same place I'd left it two weeks ago; downstairs in the foyer by the front door. Belatedly it occured to me that I probably should've gotten it when I'd first come into the house, but I shrugged it off. It was just one trip down the stairs; I was supposed to head down there anyway, since that was all I had left to do.

Before I left the room, I stood there, hovering in the doorway and gazing at the mess in the room. For some reason it really _bothered _me. It's been over two weeks since this mess actually happened, yet it was still here, _exactly how I left it. _They've been here all this time, and didn't even bother to clean it up or something? At least stop stepping on my artwork? I know that's technically _my _job, but still; they were here all this time and I wasn't. It just irritated and annoyed me.

So I stepped back inside and set my stuff down, spending the next five minutes gathering up all my pictures into three neat piles. Somewhere in the middle of the second pile, it occured to me that I was leaving quite a lot of evidence that I had been here. Not only was I leaving the closet almost bare and taking my backpack back, I was also cleaning my room, making it remarkably noticeable that I - or at least _somebody_ - had been here.

But... I was just so tired of hiding. I was so tired of having to scan a room or a store for they're familiar faces; the ones I was trying my hardest to avoid. It was tedious, and pitiful, and I was sick of it! I shouldn't have to hide; things shouldn't have to be this way. I wished they weren't.

Besides, a more mischeivous and sly part of me whispered, something like this could freak them out a little. I mean, the whole room had been trashed, and the closet still had clothes in it before they left the house. Wouldn't you freak out if all of a sudden everything was clean and gone when you came back? It was as scary and insulting as getting robbed, right under your nose.

A small, cruel grin lifted my lips involuntarily. I immediately wiped it off my face, yet finished the last pile. After all, it would be such a pain to try to replicate such a beautiful disaster of papers. I mentally rolled my eyes.

_There,_ I told myself as I stacked the last of the pictures. _All __finished. _

I stooped down to get my backpack and duffel, but literally dropped them when I heard Sarah's panicked voice at my side from the walkie-talkie.

"Alert! Alert! I see the car! I see them! They're right about to pass me!" I heard some fumbling, banging noises, making me think that Sarah was hunkering down below the steering wheel of her brother's car.

I unclipped the walkie-talkie from my jeans and pressed the button. "Who's in the car?" I asked tensely.

"Uh... I see Mr. and Mrs. Coranda in the driver and passenger, and it looks like... two other people in the car. And a few bags and stuff in the back window. Dude, I'm not kidding you, you only have, like, five minutes to get out of there." There was a slight pause. Then, "No, scratch that. You have less than _two _minutes; they're driving like bats out of hell! _GET OUT OF THERE."_

I cursed. I snatched the bags off the floor and slung them on my shoulders. I quickly crossed the room to the window, stepping on the broken glass, and perched on the window sill carefully. Sarah was right. I could hear the sound of the car engine already at the mouth of the street. Any longer than a minute, and they'd see me in the window. With a breath, I looked down, and jumped off the sill.

With little more than a muffled gasp, I landed on my feet in a crouch. Right at that second, the car crunched on the gravel in front of the house. Faster than lightning, I hid around the corner of the house; my room was next to the wooden fence/gate that connected to the backyard. I heard the sound of car doors slamming shut, and then four pairs of footsteps walking towards the door. My heart hammered in my chest, my palms collected nervous sweat, and I held my breath as theose four sets of footsteps suddenly stopped.

"Wait," someone breathed. There was a heavy silence. Then, words that made my heart stop cold: "She's here."

And the footsteps resumed at a much faster pace, running into the house and up the stairs. Every instinct in my body screamed at me to run, but I wanted to hear what their reactions would be to the clean room, the empty closet, and the now flapping tarp. There were intakes of breath, halted footesteps, and muttered words; all reactions I had expected. Satisfied with that, I ran for all I was worth back the way I'd come, hopping over fences and skirting around cars.

When I finally reached the car two minutes later, Sarah was sitting in the driver's seat of the car, biting her nails and rocking slightly back and forth nervously. I slammed into the driver's side of the car, stopping that way; I didn't mean to scare Sarah so much. She screamed bloody murder, jumping away from me and into the passenger seat. I held my hands up in a sign of peace, giving her a look that said, _Calm down!_

She looked immensely relieved when she realized it was just me. I guessed she was too relieved that I wasn't some murderer to get mad at me. I climbed into the car, throwing my prizes in the backseat.

"You scared the living _crap_ out of me," she wheezed, hand over her heart. She lolled her head over to look at me. "What, did you run so fast the only way to stop was to slam into the freaking car and scare me to death?"

"Actually, yeah, that sounds about right," I said nonchalantly, shrugging.

Sarah glared at me, shaking her head. "Ooohh, Naomi Jarene, if I wasn't so scared, I woulda killed you right on the spot!"

I chuckled, starting the car. Now that I was in the car, ready to leave this all behind, I was relaxed, settling into our playful banter like usual. "Psh; you and what army? You've got nothing to kill me with. Your so called 'mad skills' wouldn't help you if you were trying to kill _me._"

"My mad skills would be _plenty_ to kill you, thank you very much," she scoffed. Then she got a little more serious. "Didn't you notice it, though?"

"Notice what?" I asked. I couldn't see what she was talking about. There was nothing really remarkable about Danny's car; other than the fact that it was cleaner than most. Not that I'd been in many ninteen-year-old guys' cars. I could even smell the scent of pine - one of those carfresheners.

Sarah's eyes widened. She leaned closer as if she was about to tell me a secret. "The pistol in the glove."

I leaned back and stared at her, eyes wide, mouth slightly agape in shock. "_What?"_

She nodded, turning in her seat to stare at the glove compartment as if the gun itself would slither out and bite her. She pointed. "In there."

I leaned over and opened the glove compartment. Sure enough, a black object sat in the back of the small space, undoubtedly a handgun like Sarah'd said. It filled me with a cold, tingly sensation, a shiver down my spine, and sense of dread. We were in a car with an actual weapon inside it. Just the thought was frightening.

"Ahem," I cleared my throat, which had suddenly gone dry. "Uh, that's not a pistol. That's a standard handgun."

Sarah scowled at me, though she knew what I was doing. "Yeah, like I'm supposed to know the difference. You're the artist. I'm sure you've drawn some, in fits of rage. Held to the temple of your enemies, since you could so easily draw them." She rolled her eyes, the worry still present there.

"I'm not that kind of girl," I quipped at her. Sick of staring at the gun, I shut the glove compartment and sat back in my seat.

"So, is it safe to say that the mission's complete?" Sarah looked at me like she would dread the answer she wasn't hoping for.

"Yep. Mission accomplished." I gave her a thumbs up, not looking at her, smiling tensely. I wondered... were they still thinking about the incident of not even twenty minutes ago, or were they over it? I wished I had their ablility to get over things that quickly.

"Did you make it out okay?"

"Yeah," I said quietly. A light drizzle had just begun outside, our view obscured by the light mist. I stared out into it, my thoughts having a tug of war match. What was it like for rain when it had to leave its comfy home in a cloud? Did they have any parents or siblings? How did _that _work? Were _they _on their way over here already in my pursuit?

That last thought made me jolt upright in the drivers' seat, straightening up and turning the keys in the ignition. I sighed. "Let's go home. Our work here is done."

It was silent in the car for the first few minutes. Then Sarah said, "So what are you gonna wear for your date with Bryan tonight? Since you don't seem to like looking like a normal non-gothic teenager wearing _normal_, colorful clothes. I'm curious as to what you're gonna do." She cocked her head to the side, giving me a side-long glance.

I said, "I packed an old dress from the back of my closet into the bag in the back." I pointed one finger behind me. Tonight, I was going on a date with Bryan; he was taking me to a fancy place that I was a little intimidated by. I'd looked it up when he told me about it, and I discovered that while it was definitely an attraction for the wealthy, it was surprisingly cheap. The decor and clientel said _fancy and upperclass_, but really, it was an attraction for teenagers and adults, middle class and upper. I could even afford a meal with the last of the allowence I still had.

Sarah twisted in her seat, her torso disappearing from my peripheral line of view as she leaned in the back seat. I heard the sounds of a zipper and shifting fabric fill the car for a few seconds before she let out a grunt and pulled back into the passenger seat. She held the red dress in her fist triumphantly.

"Ahhh," she murmured appreciatively. "What's this? Actual _color?_" She gave a mocking gasp of exaggerated shock. "Wow, I didn't think you had it in you. You said this was in the back of your closet?"

"Yep," I said, nodding.

"It must've been screaming for help all this time, 'cause I don't remember ever seeing this in your closet before. I would think the color red would stand out in that dark sea of black you call a closet." She twisted and pulled at the dress, holding it up to admire it. "Nothing says 'Kiss me' like the color red. Well, 'Kiss me' among other things." She wagged her eyebrows up and down at me suggestively.

I gasped loudly, smacking her arm as I caught what she was implying. "Sarah!" I cried, mortified. "You know I'm not that kind of girl! I'm sixteen, for crying out loud! Get your mind out of the gutter!"

Sarah giggled at my expression, the blooming of red on my cheeks. "Hahaha, you're blushing!" she giggled.

"No ship, Sherlock," I retorted, eventually falling into the same laughing pattern. We were still laughing by the time we made it home. As we made our mad dash through the rain - which had decided to fall harder the closer we got to Sarah's house - I still could not, for the life of me, pin point the exact reason as to why Daniel, the calmest and most practical of all of Sarah's brothers, would carry a handgun in the glovecompartment of his car. Despite having temporarily forgotten in the change of coversation topic, the thought still haunted me.

But nevermind that at the moment. I had a date to get ready for with the best boyfriend I could ever have asked for.

Throughout all that has been happening, Bryan has remained ever-present and supportive, always by my side. He could cheer me up with the littlest gestures, take my mind off of certain things with a single word, and make my heart melt with just the sound of his voice. He really was the best. Besides Sarah, he was basically the only person I could trust right now. And I didn't want that to ever change.

I was quite relieve when he asked me out on a date the other day. Relieved because I was still pretty shaken about that incident with Keith. Even before he'd come back to CHS I'd sworn to never let him even touch me, and vice versa. But then, out of the blue of my hurricane of emotions, I'd actually _thrown_ myself at him. _In his car_. You can believe how upset I am with myself, can't you? Upset didn't even begin to cover it. At all.

But I was determined to put that behind me and enjoy myself tonight with Bryan. The other day, sometime before he'd asked me out on our date, I was thinking back to the first day we met. It was interesting to think that we met via a head-on collision. Ever since that fateful day, I hadn't been able to stop thinking about him, even though at the time it hadn't been romantically. Now that we were together, I felt whole. Complete.

It was as if I haven't really been breathing until I he came into my life. I felt things I'd never really felt before, saw things in a way I'd never seen them before - my entire perspective on life in general has changed, all thanks to him. My heart raced whenever he came near, I couldn't look at the color green without his eyes, gentle and warm when their gaze caught mine, flashed though my mind's eye, and I realized that my life has changed more in the past few months than is has in the last sixteen years. The truth about the life I've been living was revealed, and I'd met someone I really, really cared about that I knew would never do anything to hurt me.

Bryan was like my angel. He'd come into my life just before all of this craziness happened, almost as if he knew I would need him, and has helped keep me afloat during the crisis my life has turned into. These past two weeks were just the calm before the storm. I knew that. But at least I would have Bryan and Sarah by my side. I loved Sarah like a sister, a part of me that I could and would never part with. Bryan - I lo-

I froze mid thought. I couldn't use that word. I just couldn't. The last time I had, things had gone to hell in a handbasket. That was the last thing I wanted between Bryan and me. But I was so dangerously close to saying it... at least in my head. Out loud, I won't say I'm in... _love._ My heart warmed as if to confirm it.

"Naomi!" Sarah's voice called. She knocked on the bathroom door three times. Part of the reason why I prefered to stay with Sarah while I was M.I.A from home was because her room had its own bathroom. I shut off the water in the shower, stepping out and wrapping myself in a black towel.

"I'm out," I said, drying myself quickly with the towel.

"Okay, good. Just to give you a head's up, I'm gonna blow-dry your hair so it's not wet when you go out, and then I'm gonna do your make-up, okay?"

I froze, towel touching my face. "What if I say no?" I asked. But I already knew the answer.

"Did it sound like I was giving you a choice?" She answered. "This is gonna be a fancy-looking place you're going to! You have to look your best! So yes, you _are_ gonna wear make up, you _are_ gonna let me do your hair, and you _are_ going to wear high-heels!"

I groaned. She just had to say high-heels...

"Don't you _ugh_ me! Hurry up and dry yourself!"

Two minutes later I was sitting on the closed toilet enduring the toture method that was blow-drying. Seriously, did girls do this to themselves for _fun?_ What kind of sadistic person would do this to themselves for the sake of looking good? The saying, "_Beauty is pain," _should not be taken literally.

"Okay," Sarah said as she unplugged the toture device from the outlet in the wall. "All done. Your hair has curled quite nicely. I'm not even going to _try_ straightening that stuff." She reached into a drawer and pulled out several bobby pins, scattering them on the counter top. She grabbed the right side of my hair in front of my ear and stuck in the bobby pins, pinning the hair up so that the right side of my face and my ear were exposed. My curls tumbled down my back in their usual ringlets, though they were more contained and not as frizzy as they usually were.

"Now for your make-up."

I gulped. _Uh-oh._ Sarah unzipped her make-up bag, a medium-sized pouch filled with tons of make-up from lipstick to eyeliner to concealer to blush. It made me shudder just thinking about it.

She frowned down at me, seeming to think about how and what she was going to torture me with. Then she snapped her fingers and began digging through her bag, pulling out several things that were painful even to look at.

"Close your eyes," she commanded. "I don't want you seeing anything until I'm finished."

I complied easily, pulling my robe tighter around myself. I thought it would take forever, but in reality it was only about five minutes or so. When I opened my eyes and looked in the mirror, I was a little shocked.

Most of my make-up was neutral colored. I had light tan eyeshadow that wasn't really noticeable, a light, rosy blush along my high cheekbones, and - what surprised me the most - glossy, bloodred lips. I looked years older, yet still sixteen. My grey eyes looked luminous, almost as if they were glowing, they stood out so much. My already dark lashes accentuated them, making my eyes look blue-er. I looked so unlike me that I actually gasped out loud.

"I know," Sarah said in response. "You look stunning. All those other girls will eat their hearts out. Now come on! We have to get your dress on."

So we did. Sarah helped me, even though she knew she didn't need to. I think she felt like she needed to be there for me. She'd been this way since the last time I saw _them._ And now it was emphasized because I'd seen them again today. Have I mentioned how much I love Sarah like my sister?

With the dress on, I looked even more unlike myself. I looked like one of those old-time singing ladies with the floor-length glittery gowns and the elbow-long gloves singing with the jazz band behind her in a smoky room where everyone was either gambling, smoking, or watching her sing. My black hair, make-up, tan skin, and red dress that ended just above the knee made me look a little more modern, though.

The dress hugged my curves in all the right places. The lace at the hem brought attention to every move I made; not that I needed that. Paired with the high-heels, I was about six feet tall. My first thought when I saw how tall I looked compared to Sarah's five-foot-seven was _I'm glad Bryan's six-foot-two. _I wouldn't look taller than him, at least.

"Gorgeous!" Sarah said, grinning at me. "And just in time, too." She glanced out the window just as she heard the sound of a motorcycle engine pull up to the driveway. Suddenly, Sarah smacked her forehead. "I forgot he had a morotcycle! Your hair, your dress - how will this work?"

I shrugged, unconcerned. It wasn't really a big deal for me. I could move around well enough to sit behind Bryan on his morotcycle, and my hair wouldn't be doing anything wrong under the helmet. With Sarah's black peacoat over it all, I'd be fine. I said as much to her, though she didn't look entirely reassured.

"When you get back here, all of my work had better not be for nothing!" She warned me, forefinger jabbed at my chest. "I wanna hear good results, okay?"

I saluted her mockingly, a smile on my face. "Yes, ma'am."

She glared at me playfully, before throwing the peacoat at me. "Get outta here. Don't forget your purse. Call if you need anything!"

Andy had agreed to let me borrow his cellphone for the night, which I thought was awfully nice of him. On a Friday night, I would've thought he'd be going somewhere, but since he'd caught the flu a few days ago and was still recovering, there wasn't much he was going to do for a while.

"Okay, I will," I answered. Just before I was about to leave the room, Jessie and Jackson burst inside without knocking. I was fiercely glad that I was already dressed.

"Sarah!" Jessie shrieked. "Where's our walkie-talkies?"

Then they caught sight of me. Their jaws dropped in shock as they took me in. Uncomfortable under their stares, I shrugged on the peacoat.

"Where are _you_ going?" Jackson exclaimed, still shocked.

"I'm going out on a date with my boyfriend," I answered, "Not that it's any of your buisness."

Before they could say anything else, I rushed out of the room. The doorbell rang, and the other three brothers got to it before I could. I could hear Bryan greet them from behind the three.

"I'm Jonas," Jonas said, shaking Bryan's hand. The other two introduced themselves as well, and I couldn't resist the grin on my face at the whole exchange. To his credit, Bryan didn't even look intimidated.

"You have her back at a reasonable hour, okay? No funny buisness or anything," Jonas warned. He managed to sound nonchalant even though the words suggested anything but that. "Be good to her."

"I will, sir, I promise," Bryan said good-naturedly. It was hard to distrust a voice like that.

I figured that was my cue to make myself known. I cleared my throat. "Ahem," I said. "Excuse me."

Jonas, Andy, and Danny all turned around. They gazed at me in shock, which quickly turned into protectiveness as they glanced back at Bryan. He was looking at me much the same way, admiringly as his eyes took me in.

Bryan was dressed the usual way he dressed. Dark jeans, motorcycle boots, his ever-present leather jacket. The only thing different was the button up shirt he wore beneath the leather jacket. It was dark red and it accentuated his muscular build. It occured to me then just how in tune we were. We'd both decided to wear red on this date, apparently.

"Take care of her," Andy said warningly. He put his arm around my shoulders protectively.

Bryan just nodded. He didn't take his eyes off of me.

"I'll be fine, Andy," I said without taking my eyes off of Bryan's. "I'll see you guys later, okay?"

"Okay, have a good time."

I stepped out and took Bryan's hand, the door closing behind us.

"Hey, you," I said to him as we walked to his motorcyle.

"Hey," he said back. "You look amazing. No, you look stunning." He sounded almost surprised.

"Thank you," I laughed. "You don't look so bad yourself." He didn't look bad at all. He was actually rather good-looking tonight. Not that he wasn't usually good-looking. There was just something about tonight that made it more... prominent.

I climbed onto the bike behind him. "Are you really still going to make me wear that stupid helmet?" I complained.

"Yes, yes I am. Unless you want to get there with your hair all messed up and have to explain it to Sarah when we come back and you look like a wild cavewoman?"

I pretended to consider it. "Fine," I playfully snapped. "You win!"

He started the engine, and we drove off.

About twenty cold minutes later, we arrived at one of the most fancy restaraunts I've ever been to in my entire life. It was so fancy that I couldn't even make out the neon sign above the building or the fancy font in the window. There were also a lot of expensive cars parked in the parking lot. To say it was intimidating would be putting it lightly.

And I only felt worse when we walked inside. The people there just stared at us, with their judgmental expressions, their _I-am-better-than-you_ attitudes. I felt so small and insignificant, like a small dirty child who'd just walked in the middle of an important event. I wasn't sure which I was more of: frightened or mortified.

"Table for two under reservations for Fray, please?" Bryan spoke softly to the man looking at us with disdain. He had a tablet and a pen in his hand. He looked us up and down critically.

"Are you sure you have reservations _here?_" he asked cynically.

My temper sparked, and before I could stop myself I spoke in - of all things - a British accent, "Of course we're sure! Do you think we would make such a mistake?"

Why I did that, I had no idea, but I fought down my uncertainty, holding the man's dull brown eyes with mine. He couldn't hold them for long. His cheeks turned pink, and he mumbled, "No, of course not, miss. Please forgive me. Eh, follow me this way, please."

He led us down a few tables from the door. People continued to stare at us as we walked past. Unfortunately, the table we sat in just so happened to be in the middle of the room next to a pillar holding up the ceiling. There was a black and white picture of a man sitting at a desk, smiling at the camera, with a golden plaque underneath the picture that said, _Henry Garner, 1954-2003_

Facinating. The man pulled out a chair for me to sit. I gave him a small smile and sat down. Bryan sat down in the seat facing me. He offered me a reassuring smile, which I returned.

"A waiter will be right with you," the man said to us. Then he turned at sped off back to his counter at the door.

I noticed then that a line was starting to form. I wondered how there hadn't been a line when we got here. Maybe a stroke of luck? Maybe that was why everyone was staring at us.

"This place is... uh, wow," I said. I couldn't even come up with a word to sum it all up.

"I guess," Bryan said, casting a glance around the room. He shrugged.

This caught my attention. I arched an eyebrow. "You've been places fancier than this?" I asked.

Again, Bryan shrugged. "A few," he said.

Before I could ask him to elaborate, a waiter appeared at the table. "Good evening, miss, mister," he said. He was a middle-aged man who looked to be in his late thirties, early forties with salt and pepper hair. His brown eyes were warm and bright, silently smiling. "How are you both doing tonight?"

"Good, thank you," we said.

"May I start you off with something to drink?"

We gave him our orders and he sped off to get them. I looked over my shoulder and noticed just how long the line was. There were people standing outside on the curb, it was so long.

"I feel sorry for whoever is standing outside," I muttered.

Bryan nodded, chuckling humorlessly. His demeanor suddenly changed, his eyes growing serious. "So how did the mission go? Successful, I hope?"

I nodded. "Yep. Mission accomplished." I then proceeded to tell him the details about the whole ordeal, leaving out the part about cleaning up my room. I wasn't sure why I didn't tell him that part, but I didn't question it. I felt that it was just something unimportant. At least, that was what I told myself.

"Well, the good thing is that you're okay," Bryan said. He reached out his hand and lightly caressed my cheek with the back of his hand. I leaned into his touch, smiling at him.

Again, the _L_ word flashed through my mind. My heart skipped a beat at the mere thought of it. There was no denying that I cared deeply and strongly for this boy, but in all honestly, I'd only met him a few months ago! It was okay to feel strongly, but it was too soon to be in... well, _that. _

Feeling annoyed at myself, I banished those thoughts from my mind. No negativity. Just... Bryan and me. Just us. Together on our date.

I put my hand over his, rubbing my thumb in circles over his skin. The waiter came with our drinks, and took our orders. Even though we didn't look over the menu, we scanned our eyes over it and ordered the first thing we saw that looked appetizing enough to eat - at least, that was what I did. I'm not sure about Bryan; he looked like he knew his way around this place pretty well.

The waiter left.

I said, "I'm not really sure what I just ordered."

Bryan laughed, and the sound made my heart melt. "Don't worry. I'm about ninety percent you'll like it. It's like a warm pastry, but with chicken and vegetables and..." He trailed off, his eyes wandering just next to me, staring at something behind me. I followed his gaze over my shoulder.

The long line had moved up a considerable amount since the last time I'd looked at it. Standing in line, just a few spots before the check-in desk, was a girl. She was tall, ridiculously curvaceous, pale skinned, and blond haired. Her eyes, dark brown, were trained on Bryan. But as soon as she caught my eye, she raised an eyebrow, almost as if she'd expected to see something else. Then, she flicked her eyes back at Bryan and gave him an exaggeratedly flirtatious wink.

And she tossed her hair over her shoulder and turned away, as if nothing had happened.

My lips parted ever so slightly in shock. Had she seriously just done that? Right in front of me, when she clearly knew that Bryan was on a date with me? She also clearly knew who Bryan was. I sat correctly back in my seat, facing Bryan. He wasn't looking at me, rather down at the table, his posture tense, his jaw taut. Apparently, he knew who she was, too.

"She seemed friendly," I commented cheerfully. Not a good sign when it came from me.

He obviously knew it too, because he sat up straight in his seat and looked at me. "Yeah..." he said. He frowned. "A little too friendly."

"Was she a friend?" I asked, resting my elbows on the table and my chin on my folded hands too look at him.

"No," he answered seriously. "No, she was not a friend."

His tone suggested the matter was closed to discussion. My personality _declared_ that it was not.

"I see."

Saving him from answering me, the waiter came by with our food. "Enjoy your food," he said.

I smiled up at him. "Thank you."

We ate in silence. Every once in a while, Bryan would tense up again, his face alert and focused on something I couldn't see. It was disconcerting, watching him do this over and over. Several times I wanted to just ask him what his deal was, but I kept quiet. I had the feeling I would find out.

About half way through the meal, he scooted back in his chair and stood up. "I'm gonna be right back," he told me almost absently. He was looking at something else beyond me - or rather, some_one_ else. He stalked off before I could even answer.

"Okay," I huffed. "Sure. Just leave me alone while we're on a date." I huffed again, crossing my arms on the table. "This is what I get for wearing color."

What was he doing? Was he going to talk to that girl from the line? Was he going to tell her to stop trying to flirt while we were on a date? To stop flirting with him period? I hoped so. But when I turned around and saw that he'd already disappeared, I knew that probably wasn't the case.

_No matter,_ I told myself. I straightened up in my seat, tilting my chin up. _He wouldn't do anything. He's a good guy. He'll be back in, like, two minutes._

Two minutes escalated to five. Five escalated to ten. I finished my meal and just sat there, staring at my empty plate blankly. A cold, sinking feeling started forming in my stomach. _Where was he?_

"May I take your plate, miss?" The waiter was back. His hand hovered over my plate uncertainly.

"Huh?" I asked blankly. Then I caught up to the present. "Oh! Oh, uhm, yes. Thanks."

"Where is the boy?" he asked. He looked around the restaraunt as if he would find Bryan just coming out of the bathroom or something. "Didn't look like the soft-stomached kind..."

"He's just... He'll be right back," I finished lamely. But it sounded like a lie, even to myself. My jaw twitched.

"Okay. Enjoy your evening, miss." The waiter's brown eyes shone with concern, though he walked away with the plates.

Another five minutes passed by. With each passing minute, the picture of Henry Garner got more and more interesting. _Where was Bryan? What could he possibly be doing that could take this long? _People were beginning to stare. They gazed at me unabashedly, not caring if I caught them. But they looked away in fear when I glared at them; the message was clear.

Finally, I could stand it anymore. The staring, the suspense - it was just _killing _me. I stood up, threw my napkin on the table, and left two twenties in the folder to pay for the meal. I shrugged on my coat as I walked by. Whispers and low hoots resonated around me as I walked past several tables.

_"Ooooh, she had to _pay!"

"_Now who would leave such a gorgeous young thang like that all alone? He must have some nerve..."_

_"I feel bad for whoever her date was."_

_"Yeah, I don't think he'll get another one."_

The worst part was, I heard them all. Every comment was like a little paper cut in my skin, each one deeper than the last. I was trying so hard to block them out that I didn't even realize I'd walked through the back door until I ended up in the dark, cold alley. It was illuminated by one streetlamp, though I could see well enough to avoid tripping over the trash on the floor. A giant dumpster sat a few steps away from me, blocking half the entry of a square area behind the restaraunt. Two voices floated over to me, one male, the other female. I reacted purely on instinct, hiding behind the dumpster and peeking beyond the side.

Sure enough, there they were. Bryan and that blonde girl. The sight of them caused my heart to wrench painfully in my chest. He had her pinned up against the wall, one hand next to her head, the other down at her waist, palm flat on the wall. The only thing I could find remotely okay in that situation was the fact that their bodies were actually touching. Though I could see Blondie was trying to change that; she kept repositioning herself closer.

I was frozen, watching the scene before me unravel. It was like watching a car crash; something so horrible that you want to look away, but you just _can't. _

_"... alone,_" I heard Bryan said. His low voice was carried away by the wind, but my senses were heightened by my apprehensiveness. I could hear him just as well as I could when I was standing next to him.

"Oh, yeah," Blondie said in a low, sultry voice. "But you better make it worth it. I've come all this way for you; I'm not leaving without something to make this all worth while."

I heard Bryan sigh. The sinking feeling in my stomach intensified as I watched him move the hand by her head to touch her hair. The caress was like a knife in my heart. She slung her arms around his neck and pulled him close. Bryan, somewhat reluctantly, allowed this, putting his other arm around her and leaning his head down. My heart beat double-time, and my breath came in short, desperate gasps. And then their lips touched, and the car crashed.

I slapped a hand over my mouth to stiffle the strangled noise that arose in my throat. Tears, hot and torturous, stung my eyes, and although my vision blurred, I couldn't stop watching. It wasn't just a little kiss they were sharing; it was full of passion, the blonde's hands pulling at Bryan's hair, Bryan pushing her up against the wall. I was hot, too hot all of a sudden. I couldn't breathe, couldn't think of anything except what was going on in front of me.

And after what seemed like eons later, they broke apart, breathing heavily in the almost dark. I could only hear they're breathing - and the lack of mine.

"Definitely worth it," Blondie said breathlessly. She swiped her lips for smeared lipstick. "Almost hurts me to go."

"_Go,_" Bryan growled. "And don't come back."

She made a noise of contempt, but still turned and entered the restaraunt. Bryan stood outside for a few seconds, trying to fix his hair and wipe off the smeared lipstick from his own face. The tears only streamed down faster. He was trying to hide it. Hide the fact that he'd _cheated on me. _

The words hurt more than any physical pain. Was this what it truly felt like to have a broken heart? Was this really going to be a recurring patter in my love life - every guy I date will want to kiss some other girl behind my back? Was I apparently not good enough? Was I _that_ hard to like, or - god forbid - _love?_ My heart was completely shattered; pulverized into dust. I could almost see it; russet sand-like dust, sifting through my fingers and getting lost in the wind.

Bryan cleared his throat, fixed his jacket, and entered the restaraunt. As soon as the door shut behind him, I felt something, a small nudge in the center of my chest. That little nudge escalated until I was suddenly releasing a wordless, timeless shriek of pain, anger, hurt, and every other feeling that I couldn't possibly put into words.

The sound of the broken hearted.

I screamed until I was overtaken with sobs, horrible, messy sobs that racked my entire body painfully. The grief I felt now was almost as potent as the grief I'd felt the other day in Keith's car. Oh, but that day seemed like a lifetime ago. I felt like a piece of my soul had just died; I wouldn't be the same person again after this night. I remembered thinking that with Bryan, I felt whole. What I felt now was _far _from _whole._

I needed to leave. I couldn't let him find me. I couldn't let him look for me. I needed to call Sarah. But first, I needed to distance myself from this.

Sniffling, I stood up from the ground and began to walk, shoulders straight, chin high, to the front of the building. There was no longer a line waiting to get inside. I could see our table through the tinted windows of the restaraunt. Bryan stood there, looking confused when he saw that I wasn't there. A waiter passed by him; our waiter. He asked him a question, and the waiter answered, jerking his thumb toward the doors and shrugging. Bryan's brows pulled together in a frown.

I didn't wait to see anymore. Taking it all in stride, I took off my high-heels and began to run at top speed down the road. It didn't matter where I was going. I just needed to find a place far enough away that I could rest and wait for Sarah or Danny to come pick me up without giving Bryan the chance to find me. I didn't want to see him again tonight. I didn't want anything to do with him at all. I just couldn't see how he could do this to me.

Was it something I'd done? Was it something I'd said? Did I say something a little too personal? Was he tired of hearing about my family drama? If he didn't care about me anymore, why didn't he just break-up with me when he stopped? Why drag it out? Why did this always happen to me when I really cared about someone?

The ache in my chest finally forced me to stop running about ten miles away from the restaraunt. I stopped in an alley, dark and gloomy in the cloudy moonlight. I leaned against the wall opposite the mouth of the alley, sliding down until I sat on the floor and my harsh breathing dissolved into soundless sobs. The image of that kiss was all too fresh in my mind. Hatred, hot and viscious, surged within me as I pictured the blonde girl, with her thigh-high dress, hooker heels, and that sultry smile. The smugness in her face made me want to punch her until she was black and blue, just to make sure she never looked that way again.

I tried to calm myself then, taking deep breaths. _This isn't you,_ I told myself. _Calm down..._

Sighing, I stood up. I needed to call Sarah. But before I could take Andy's phone out of my purse, the sound of heavy footsteps coming my way stopped me in my tracks. I looked up.

The first thing I noticed about the man was his height. He was super tall, just as tall as Patch, if not a bit taller. He carried himself the way a cowboy would; all swagger and arrogance. He walked slowly, leisurly towards me. I couldn't see any distinguishing features besides his dark hair and the bluging muscles on his arms.

He let out a low, interested whistle. "Well, well, well," he drawled in a deep, low voice. "What have we here? A damsel in distress? A lady in need of a white knight?"

I stayed silent, not daring even to breathe loudly.

The man snapped his fingers as if he'd just remembered something. "No, I know what. We've got ourselves a little Nephil! How sweet."

My heart literally stopped beating in my chest. I was torn between wanting to bolt out of that alley like a bat out of hell, and going up to this man and demanding what he was onto.

"Hmm... you've got an interesting aura about you for a Nephil," he mused. He began to walk in a circle around me. I stood absolutely frozen. "You have the scent of a Nephil, but the aura of an archangel. It's like the Nephil and fallen angel auras combined. You seem... well, it's almost as if you're half- Nephilim, half..." he trailed off and I saw his face light up in surprise and scary delight. He roared with laughter.

"I can't believe this!" He cried happily. "Of all the luck! Of course! Why didn't I see this before? I should've known it was you from the start. Wow... you're a beauty, aren't you? This is incredible. You, daughter of the Black Hand's army. They hid you quite well, I'll give them that."

Somehow I managed to find my voice in the middle of my sea of fear. "What are you talking about?" I whispered, not having to try hard at putting the fear in my voice. "Who are you? What do you want from me?"

"It's not important who I am, darlin'," he said, stepping closer to me. "It's who I'm gonna _be. _As for what I want from you, you're gonna give it to me whether you like it or not. Are you immortal like your parents? Where are the bastards, anyway? Do they know you're out here?" He reached out a hand to touch my face.

I blocked it, taking a step back. "Don't touch me," I spat at him.

He clicked his tonge. "Now, now, don't be like that, darlin'," he taunted. "I'm not gonna hurt you. But you're coming with me."

"No. No I'm not."

He frowned, and I got the feeling I was stepping into dangerous territory. "I didn't want to have to do this, but you leave me no choice." He reared back his fist.

Everything seemed to happen in slow-motion then. His hand was like a slowed down blur, rearing back slugishly. He propelled it forward toward my face, but at the last possible second, I caught it, twisting it and landing a hard kick to his chest. He flew backward into the wall, some pieces crumbling off with the impact. He got up sooner than I expected, charging at me like a bull. He knocked me to the floor, landing on top of me, and delivered a severe punch to my face.

The pain was unlike anything I'd ever felt before. I'd never been punched in the face before. I was also sure I'd heard a loud crack from my head hitting the asphalt. Inanely, I thought it was an interesting experience, all pain aside.

He reared his fist back to deilver another punch, but I tucked my legs up underneath him and kicked him off of me. I was on my feet an instant before him. We circled each other, my eyes scanning the floor and my surroundings for any weapons. There was a crowbar behind him, but to try to get it while he was able to fight me before I could get it would be suicide. I had the advantage of my smaller size and speed on my side. But he had brute force and strength to his advantage. It was obviously something he prided himself for.

He made the first move. He charged at me again, faster than before, but I was ready for it this time. I side stepped him, switching places, while he landed on a pile of crates of glass. It seemed like an oddly clumsy move for someone with his abilities, but it didn't matter. It only meant that I would get out of this alive. Quicker than lightning, I snatched the crowbar off the floor and turned around -

To bump right into the man's chest. Before I could defend myself, he wrapped his large, meaty hands around my throat and squeezed, lifting me up and slamming me against the wall.

"You're a feisty one," he laughed, spitting something dark out of his mouth. "I almost thought you would beat me there, for a second. What were you gonna do with that crowbar, eh? Hit me with it?" He leaned in closer to my ear. "News flash, princess: I don't feel pain."

A horrible disavantage for me, what with my situation. My windpipe was crushed in his iron grip; I couldn't breathe. My lungs began to burn with a desperate need for oxygen. My head was swimming, my vision was blurring and darkening, and my thoughts were spotty and fleeting. I couldn't help but think, _is this how I'm gonna go? With the life squeezed out of me by some killer giant?_

I thought of Sarah. I thought of all her brothers, her mother and father. I thought about my friends at school, and Bryan, and even Keith. My thoughts even flickered toward _them. _I couldn't go out like this. I _wouldn't_ go out like this. I _refused._

With what seemed like the last ounce of my strength, I feebly lifted the crowbar and swung it right at him. To my complete and utter surprise, he flew back. Even better, he released his killer grip on me. I immediately sucked in a huge breath, filling my aching lungs with the sweet, sweet oxygen. I'd never loved breathing so much.

And now I had to finish buisness. The man started to stand up, but I held a hand out, bending my will and my thoughts on him to stay down and faced away from me.

"Wha-?" he struggled to speak through his surprise, struggled to make sense of what was happening to him. "What is this? What are you doing to me?"

"Shhh," I murmured, getting closer to him. "Don't speak. Just sleep."

And with that, I raised the crowbar over my head and brought it down with every ounce of strength I possessed. Immediately he crumpled to the floor, his body unconscious. I breathed raggedly for a few seconds, just processing what had just happened. Attacked. I had just been attaked. Instead of focusing on that minor - note the sarcasm - detail, I took account of any injuries. My nose wasn't broken. I was sure I would have major bruising around my throat for a while. By the pounding headache brewing in the back of my head, I knew there would be a lump about the size of an orange on the back of my head from the impact when the man tackled me. My knuckles throbbed as well from punching him.

And then the feelings began. Tears stung my eyes, not just from pain, but also from relief and fear. Relief because nothing had happened to me; I was alive at least. Fear because of what could have happened. I was almost kidnapped. I was beaten. I was heartbroken, torn apart, unable to clearly think straight. Of all the thoughts chasing each other around and around inside my head, few stood out.

_Call Sarah. Get out of here._

Just as I turned around to walk over to my fallen purse to get the phone, a familiar voice crept into my mind.

_His scars. Stab his scars, _the Voice whispered. I froze, tensely waiting for more.

_Stab him in his scars._

His _what?_

I turned back to the man on the floor. Already I could hear his breathing becoming irregular, a sign that he was waking up much faster than he was supposed to. Spurred on by a fresh wave of fear, I hurriedly scamped over and snatched the crowbar off the floor again, hating how naturally I held it in my hands. But now what? I had the crowbar. What did the voice mean by scars-?

With my heart beating double-time in my chest, I crept over to the unconscious man and lifted the back of his shirt up tentatively, watching my pale hand tremble with fear. I stiffled a gasp. Two scars in an upside down V. Just as I'd feared.

My attack wasn't random. I was targeted. By a fallen angel.

Just like that, the fear arose again within me. I struggled to push it down, to keep a clear head in this situation. But it was hard. I was standing mere feet away from someone who potentially wanted to kill me. Horror flooded me, from head to toe. As much as I wanted to scoot away, to never have to see him again, I couldn't just leave like this. I had to finish what I'd started. Which apparently meant...

_Stab him in between the wing scars._

I stood over this man, corwbar in hand. Gazing down at him, I sensed the gruesomeness of this situation settle in. The mysterious voice wanted me to stab him. To _stab _him, literally in the back. My hands trembled. I closed my eyes and took a breath to calm myself. _You have to do this, _I told myself. _He tried to hurt you, kidnap you. He won't feel it. You have to do this now. He's waking up. He's waking up!_

"Ugh," the man grunted. My eyes flew open. His hands and feet were twitching idly, trying to move as he slowly regained consciousness. Fear shot through me once again, but this time I did what I was told. I brought the crowbar up above my head and stabbed it down - smack in the middle of the fallen angel's wing scars.

I felt the resistance his flesh gave to the impalment. I felt the blood splatter on my legs from the wound, warm and dripping; wherever it touched my skin, it felt like burning acid. Immediately I released the crowbar, revulsion blooming within me. My breath came raggedly, and I fell to the floor, pushing myself away from the him with my hands and feet. I couldn't believe it. I'd just _stabbed a man._ His blood splattered my knees, stained my vision red. I was in complete and utter shock.

The man, however, barely registered his fresh, bloody wound. He just grunted again, and continued trying to get up. Before he could manage it, though, I quickly crawled over to the wooden glass crates - earning myself some nasty palm scrapes - and grabbed one. Without giving myself time to think, I smashed it over the man's head. He fell back down, knocked out again.

I didn't feel safe, though. If anything, I felt worse. I was horrified at myself. What kind of person was I? I've never so much as punched a person before. Now, I had gone to several levels; I'd punched, knocked out, and stabbed a person. All in one night. What did that say about me? How could I change so much in less than an hour's time? Was this what I was truly like inside? A brutal, merciless monster who did what they had to just to survive? Even at another's expense?

It was just too much. I couldn't handle it. My knees buckled and I went sprawling on the floor, held up by only my elbows. Inside my head, I felt something click, and then my mental defenses kicked in. But they weren't fast enough to block out the fear, the shock, the absolute _horror_ I felt inside. I sensed it all full force; a massive tsunami of feelings that I couldn't identify crushed me, knocking the breath out of me until I could only take in short desperate gasps.

And then the sobs began. I was one pure, massive ball of pain, both physical and emotional. Breathing through my nose and mouth hurt, thanks to the punches and the strangle I'd endured from the fallen angel. My hands burned, my muscles ached, and I couldn't describe to you the waves of emotions washing over me; it was the worst feeling in the world. I sobbed painfully into my arms, eyes closed, as the world fell apart right under my shoes. I trembled with the adrenaline letdown, the over all relief and fear of the whole night seemingly leaking out of me through trembles and shakes.

But as much as I would have liked to sob my feelings out, I couldn't stay there. The fallen angel wouldn't stay knocked out for long. I opened my eyes and dared a peek at him in the dark. He was a hulking figure on the floor, the crowbar's curved edge sticking straight out of his body. I shuddered violently, eyes widening and darting quickly away. This was like one whole horrible nightmare. When would it end?

_Call Sarah. Get out of there. _

I started at the Voice in my head. Wiping my eyes and nose, I gingerly crawled over to my fallen purse and fished the cellphone out of the bag. I dialed Sarah's number, staggering to my feet and stumbling toward the mouth of the alley, closer to what seemed like civilization. She answered on the third ring.

"Hello?"

"Sarah," I croaked. I tried to clear my throat. "Sarah, I need you to pick me up."

"What? What's wrong? Where are you? I'm getting into the car right now, okay?" I heard shuffling from her end of the line.

"Okay."

"Okay, hun, I'm in the car, but where are you?"

"I'm at..." I walked a little ways further out of the alley, which was behind a building with a bright neon sign above it. "I'm at Bo's Arcade. I need you. Please come quickly."

"Okay, I'll be there in fifteen, hun. Don't go anywhere else, I'll be right there, just stay where you are. I'm coming, Naomi."

Fifteen minutes was much too long. I didn't know if I had fifteen minutes. It hadn't even take five for the fallen angel to wake up the first time. The appearance of the crowbar in his back wouldn't hinder him much. I had to get out of here. With luck, the lights would be green, and Sarah could be here in half the time instead. I knew it was wishful thinking, but I couldn't help it. I didn't feel the least bit safe. And I wouldn't until I was safely driving away from this place.

"I'll be waiting." My voice trembled with tears and an undercurrent of fear. "Just please hurry, Sarah."

"Hang on, I'm almost there. Bye."

I hung up the phone. I walked backwards until my back hit the wall, and I slid down, a whine that dissolved into soft keening noises escaped my throat. How could the day's outcome be so different from its start? This morning at school seemed like a lifetime ago. Getting ready for my date seemed like centuries ago. But Bryan's betrayal was still very much fresh in my mind. It was something that I remembered painfully but wanted so desperately to forget. Trembles racked my body, starting in my hands and working their way down. I felt unstable, so unstable and wild. I didn't know anything anymore. I didn't know what to do, think, feel. I was _scared. _

I sat there, huddled in the cold dead night in a dark alley way with my potential assassin, waiting for Sarah to take me away from this place.

* * *

><p><strong>Okay, crap ending, but I wasn't exactly sure how to end it. Obviously.<strong>

**Anyway, HI GUYS. I'm back, the worst possible human being in the world! First of all, I apologize. I'M SO SORRY YOU GUYS, I HONESTLY DIDN'T MEAN TO NOT UPDATE FOR SO LONG! Life just caught up to me, I guess. Several things happened, one thing led to another, and next thing I know, I'm neck deep in some really crazy shiz. So, again, I'm really sorry. D: (Also for any grammar and spelling mistakes!)**

**I'm limited to only two hours online, so as you can guess, two hours just doesn't cut it for me. Dx On top of that is homework, and we're getting really close to STAR testing, which is pretty hectic over here. I hate testing. **

**On another note, HUGE shout out to everyone who has recently Reviewed, Favorited, and Followed any of my stories on here! THANK YOU, my lovelies! You are all amazing, beautiful people; I cannot say or describe how happy and lucky I am to have you. :D Thanks, also, to those who Favorited and/or Followed ME. That was a huge surprise, I must say. Thanks so much!**

**An update on news: I have a tumblr page! Woohoo! *Dances* \(^_^)/ Yes, and I will be posting some things about my fanfics and other stuff on there... as soon as I get any followers... *blushes* I'm rather lonely. I'm following some people, but I have no followers. Of course, I'm not exacty tech-savvy with Tumblr, I'm still really new. So, if anyone could, like, message me to kinda show me the ropes on that, please do! xD **

**My tumblr is: .com. Just put actual periods in place of the parentheses. Other than that, no spaces or caps or anything. I'm not very picky. **

**So yeah. Review. Recommend. Favorite. Follow. Anything will do, though I would like some face-to-face (laptop-to-laptop?) interraction *Cough-Review-Cough***

**Also, I got an interesting review from an anon that said: **U from Texas?

Uh, well, no, Anon. Thanks for asking. Though I think I know how you came to that observation. I know I use the word "Y'all" a lot, but that's just because I'm used to saying it - well, typing it - as a greeting to you guys. It's involuntary. xD Sorry if that confused you! I'm not trying to be sterotypical or offensive or anything like that. It's just what I say. Actually, I'm a Californian. No, I don't live in Los Angeles next to some moviestar. Almost everyone I've ever talked to that doesn't live in Cali has asked me that. That's OUR stereotype. xD

Thanks for reviewing, still! :D

**Ciao!**

**~Alee V.**


	14. Chapter 14

**So. New chapter for you guys. (PLEASE DON'T KILL ME, I'M SO SORRY)**

**Uh, just fair warning, there is a bit of language in here (though not as much as I would've added, given the possibility that my mother could read it), but it's really really mild, and kinda censored.**

**Please read on and tell me what you think! I made it extra long for you guys: 13,132 words. ^-^ **

**Love y'all! **

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><p>I'd been sitting on the cold gravel floor for about ten minutes by the time Sarah screeched to a halt in the parking lot of Bo's Arcade. It was so dim I was surprised she could see me; I could see fine, but I had enhanced vision. <em>Ugh. <em>The thought made me shudder. She quickly hopped out of the car and ran over to me as fast as she could. Her panicked and nervous energy was palpable in the air around her like static.

"Naomi, are you okay? What happened? Why are you here? Where's Bryan?" She started to give me a brisk pat—down, but when she mentioned Bryan, something in me stirred within me past the numbness. I tried to stand, but I couldn't quite manage it. Sarah helped me up.

"Let's get you into the car— I can't see you in this darkness!"

She didn't wait for an answer. She quickly— yet somehow tenderly— led me to the car and buckled me in. I hoped she wouldn't—

_Click._

_Dammit_. I blinked once in the bright car light. She gave a strangled gasp, a mix of shock and outrage intertwined.

"Naomi!" she cried, reaching her hands out to touch me. She snatched them back before she made contact. "You're— what the fuck happened to you?!" An expression of realization and anger dawned on her face. Her eyes darkened with suppressed and restrained anger. "Did _he_ do this to you?"

There was a question I could give a short answer to. "No," I croaked. I tried to clear my throat. "He didn't do it."

"Who did? What happened to you?" She sounded a little scared now, expecting the worst. I had to tell her the truth.

But first we needed to put as many miles between us and this place as we could. I wanted distance, needed it more than I ever had.

Sensing this, Sarah took the initiative and drove out of the lot. The night was dark, way darker than I'd realized; fog was beginning to settle in, a few lone wisps here and there. The farther away we drove, the easier I could breathe.

"I was jumped," I began. "By a fallen angel."

Sarah whipped her head around to look at me. She knew the dangers of fallen angels, especially the ones with vendettas against the Black Hand. I'd told her everything Nora had told me.

"Did he…?" she trailed off, but I knew what she was asking.

"Uh—huh." I nodded mutely. My eyes stung and I was suddenly trying to speak around a lump in my throat. "He knew me almost right away."

I had to stop and take a deep breath. My hands were trembling— no, not just my hands: my whole body. Sarah took one hand off the steering wheel and slid it into mine. She gave me a tight, reassuring squeeze.

"He tried to get me to go with him so he could hold me hostage or something, but I wouldn't go. He resorted to violence. I had to fight back, I know that, but Sarah— it was terrible. He strangled me. I kicked him so hard he almost broke through a brick wall. But the most horrible thing—" I cut off, a sob ripping its way out of me. "The worst thing of all was the end, right before I called you. I grabbed an old crowbar and— and—" I took a shuddering breath. "And… I stabbed him through the back!"

I was even worse admitting it out loud. I felt absolutely repulsed by myself, vile. I had the blood of a monster on my hands: mine mixed with his.

Sarah— my sweet, lovely sister Sarah— gripped my hand tighter. She looked over at me; I couldn't bear to look her in the eyes, but I knew that was what she wanted. Our eyes met; I couldn't hold back the ugly sobs any longer. Since the day we met eleven years ago, it was always me who communicated through eye and facial expressions. But in that exact moment it was like the roles were switched. I can't describe the look in her eyes. It was a look of pure love, understanding, and complete acceptance. She knew what I'd done, the gravity of what my actions had caused and the damage they'd done to my very soul. She knew everything and more and still didn't let go of my hand. She was my life—line in that moment; I was glad she didn't let go.

"Shh," she soothed me, smoothing her thumb over my knuckles. "It's okay; you're alright. Let's go home."

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><p>I had to sneak into the house through Sarah's window. Her brothers couldn't see me all bloody and battered; that would be like setting off a nuclear bomb, or angering a pack of rabid dogs. They'd put a bounty on <em>his<em> head for sure.

_Maybe that's not such a bad idea,_ a voice in the back of my mind chimed in.

_No,_ I thought back. _That's a really bad idea. They'd murder him, tear him to pieces! I wouldn't with the boys on _Keith._ Though, to be honest, I wouldn't have to. _

I sighed out loud. I was in the bathroom connected to Sarah's room, staring at my reflection. Bloodshot eyes stared back at me. Red lipstick smeared across my mouth and cheeks, mascara dripping down my face, and bruises— bruises and blood everywhere. Blue, purple, green, red, and yellow— the colors bloomed from my right eye, along my jaw, in disfigured hand—like shapes around my throat… some even covered my arms and legs, but those were yellowing, fading and healing already.

I closed my eye; my other one was swollen shut from the bruising. The image of a fist coming straight for me flashed on my inner eyelids. I snapped them open, heart fluttering in my chest. I shuddered violently. I couldn't take it anymore— I _had _to get rid of as much evidence of tonight as possible. I turned on the shower and stepped in immediately, warm water and patience be damned.

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><p>7 missed calls. 13 text messages. 5 new voicemails.<p>

The first of each came from the time I'd left the restaurant. The last came from around the time I'd gone in the shower. All of them came from the same person: _Bryan. _

My phone started ringing. It lay on the bed between Sarah and me, the glow of the screen illuminating a patch of the ceiling above us. Neither of us needed to look at the caller ID or listen to the ringtone to know who it was.

"It's rung about twice since you went into the shower," Sarah said flatly. "I was so tempted to tell him to go fuck himself with a cactus, but no. Let him suffer from the unknown."

I said nothing. I'd already explained the painful details of what had caused me to run away on our date. I still felt the wound of that scene, that kiss of betrayal— but my mind was ultimately consumed with the more recent events. Like the one where I ran someone through with a crowbar. I shuddered just thinking about it.

"What am I gonna do when we go back to school next week?" I wondered aloud. The question was eating me alive. "I mean, I could avoid him for as long as I can, but we have P.E. together. There's no avoiding him then."

Sarah was silent, and I knew she was trying to say what we were both thinking— what we both knew.

"Hun… you'll have to break it off there."

I took the words in silent, detached thought. But then, with a heavy sigh, my emotional barrier broke. Tears gushed from the corners of my eyes.

"But Sarah," I sniffled, "I don't want to!"

We flipped onto our sides in sync, facing each other, and Sarah wrapped me in a sideways hug and held me while I sobbed.

"Shh, shh, it's okay, it'll be alright. I know; I know you don't…"

We stayed like that for a long time until I noticed Sarah's caresses getting slower and softer, and I realized she was drifting off to sleep. Despite my pain, I bit back a sad smile. She was so caring, so nurturing. She'd stay up as long as I asked her to, I knew; but I wanted her to sleep. I was being selfish. I propped her up onto her pillow and drew the covers over us both. I kept her hand in mine and put the tops of our heads together. I slowly slipped into a deep, death—like sleep.

The next morning was, to put it gently, stressful. I couldn't let Sarah's brothers see me with the bruises and cuts on my face and body— the last thing I needed was for them to pursue Bryan. I didn't know how I was going to handle seeing him on Monday. I didn't want to even think about it.

Sarah decided the best course of action was to cover my wounds up as best as possible with makeup. She put her best skills into covering everything up as best as she could. The end result was fairly well done; you could only see the bruises if you concentrated or looked too long. She shrugged when she was finished, sighing at her work.

"It's not perfect, but it works. The boys won't be able to see anything, especially with the dark eye shadow I added on your eyes. You can't easily tell it's a black eye, at least." She shrugged her shoulders, giving me an unhappy twist of her mouth. "Let's go downstairs to eat."

We ate. The boys passed by me with barely a word, except for Danny. I remembered the gun in his car whenever I looked at him. I still couldn't fathom for the life of me any sort of reason he could have that gun in his car for. He wasn't violent— on the contrary, he was one of the most peaceful people I'd ever met. He definitely didn't have any enemies, especially any that would give him reason to own a gun. So, _why did he?_

I couldn't say. I also couldn't look him directly in the eye for too long before dropping my gaze back to my food as I sat across from him at the table. Unfortunately, he seemed to have the opposite problem. Instead of looking away, he couldn't seem to stop staring, scrutinizing me under his unwavering gaze. I tried not to squirm.

Everything seemed to go well until Jonas went and asked the question I was hoping nobody would ask.

"So how was your date last night, Naomi? Have fun?"

Everyone left at the table looked up. It was only Sarah, Jonas, Danny, and me. I set down my silverware and pushed my food away. I could feel the weight of every pair of eyes on me.

"Oh, uh, the date," I said, pausing to swallow. "It went well."

Jonas snorted. "'It went well'?" he repeated in a mocking voice. "What's _that_ supposed to mean?" I pressed my lips into a straight line. Maybe it would be a good idea to tell them; maybe it was a good way to practice for Monday… My heart squeezed in my chest at the thought.

"Well… I kinda wanna… break up with him." I caught Sarah's alarmed gaze and sent her a cautious one that said, _Follow my lead._

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Andy said, eyes wide and suspicious. "Why? What did he do?" His tone had an edge to it, suggesting an undercurrent of warning or near—anger.

"No, no, no, don't worry about it," I said, holding up my hands in a peaceful gesture. I kept my expression perfectly controlled, not giving away the hurt or anger I felt on the inside. "It's not him, it's me. As cliché as that sounds." I gave a fake laugh.

Thankfully, my facade worked on them. Even Danny seemed to relax, turning his gaze away and focusing on his food. Jonas and Andy were rolling their eyes, muttering things about the "friend—zone" and that they almost felt sorry for the guy. They seemed to respect my decision, though. That, at least, was a good thing. But it didn't seem to erase the knot of apprehension twisting in my stomach at the thought of the one day I had left to prepare myself for the heartbreak I had to look forward to on Monday.

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><p>~<em>Two Days Later (Monday Morning)~<em>

"Everything will be all right, okay?" Sarah said as we sat in the car in the parking lot of the school. Students walked by and flooded the entrance of the school, hurrying to get out of the cold. I hardly felt it, my black sweater hanging loosely on my shoulders. I'd worn all black today, as per usual, but I'd never felt more like I had the aura of a funeral until now.

"I'll be here for you always," she said, reaching over and squeezing my hand. "We can even skip lunch, if you want!" At this, I laughed. Sarah and I were two of the most rule—abiding students at CHS and we both knew it. The fact that she was willing to tarnish that reputation just for me made me crack an affectionate smile.

"Thanks," I said, "but that won't be necessary. I'll just have to—tough it out." I swallowed. _I don't wanna do this, I don't wanna do this, I really really don't wanna do this._ The string of words kept revolving in my mind in a pattern like the rhythm of my heartbeat. And despite those words, I knew I had to ignore them. I knew I had to do this. It was for the best. I couldn't stay with him after what he'd done. Of course I could forgive him eventually, but I could never _forget_ it. I could never forget the passion of the kiss, the image of his hands on her, her hands in his hair, the way he tried to hide the evidence before he walked back into the restaurant. And it was those memories that would be the poison in any kind of relationship we'd ever try to have. That was why I had to end things now. Permanently.

I took a deep breath. "Let's just go. Get this over with." We got out of the car and flowed with the tide of students heading inside. We drifted along toward Sarah's locker first, and as she got her books, she whispered to me, knowing I could hear her over the din, "Can you see him?"

Sometimes I forgot my eyesight was better than the average person's. I rolled my eyes in spite of myself and cast my eyes about the hallway in the direction of my locker subtly. My stomach dropped to my boots as I caught sight of a familiar head of brown hair waiting impatiently by my locker. He looked annoyingly handsome in his disheveled, I—woke—up—like—this way. The sight of him made me angry and sad at the same time, and I got slightly dizzy with the flurry of emotions hitting me.

"He's there, Sarah, I can see him!" I whispered anxiously to her as I tried to duck and hide in her locker. She leaned back, eye wide as she watched me.

"Okay, okay, don't worry," she soothed, hands up in a peaceful gesture. "We'll figure something out. Looks like we'll have to take the long way to class today, that's all. We'll get through this, we can do it. I'm right here beside you. Come on." She linked her arm with mine and led me away. There were two stairways in the main hallway: one of them was on the other side near our first period, and the other was near the office, which Sarah and I were making our way to. The plan, I realized, was to take the stairway up to the second—floor and walk through that hallway to get to the other stairway at the other end of the main hallway so that we could take those stairs and end up at our homeroom without bumping into Bryan. It was a great plan, and I was forever grateful to Sarah for coming up with it.

Once we made it to the top floor, I immediately noticed the change in the atmosphere. Heads turned and gazes burned holes through mine and Sarah's head. Everyone stared, and there were whispered conversations among the ones spoken loudly in the hall. I caught snippets as we walked through the crowd to the stairway.

"_...on purpose, according to Melanie,_" I heard from behind me. We were about half-way there now.

"_Can you believe it? Something must've happened between them…"_

_"He's waiting by her locker— don't know why she's up here— he looked so upset— even got here early—"_

And then we were in the stairwell, squeezing past people who were climbing up. The heavy door closed behind us, shutting out the buzz of rumors and opinions. I didn't get why there were all talking about Bryan and me. We weren't a big deal to them or anything— at least, I'd thought not. Their sudden interest in our relationship was bewildering to say the least.

The classroom was three doors down from the stairwell. We made it in just as the bell rang, sending the lingering students into a frenzy to get to their classes on time. I didn't look back to see if Bryan had seen us or not. I pushed him out of my thoughts as best as I could to concentrate on the lesson. But even the dull information delivered through a documentary video was not enough to get rid of the pounding of my heart caused by my apprehension and anticipation for second period. I wasn't sure I had the strength within me to get through it without breaking down. I knew I had to end things with him, of course— of that there was no doubt. Cheating was not something I took lightly. But it was going to hurt. A lot.

And all too soon, the bell rang. _Sh*t. Sh*t, sh*it, sh*t. _

I didn't wanna do this. I _really _didn't want to do this.

But I had to. I had to be strong.

Mechanically, I walked out of the room, Sarah following worriedly behind. Her presence was slightly reassuring, calming my racing heart just a little bit. It was as if I were walking to my own death. It was ridiculous! How had I gotten to this point, where the idea of breaking up with someone who was poison to me and my heart was the equivalent to having a gun to my head? Months ago this wouldn't have even been happening. Everything went downhill the day he'd run into me in the hallway that fateful August day. Now, in November, days away from our Thanksgiving break, everything between us was about to end. Here was goodbye to the warmth passed between our hands, the electricity shared in our kisses, the safety I felt whenever I was with him, the overwhelming, heady feelings I seemed to have for him.

That was what made this so painful. I was tangled too deeply in him. My feelings were too strong. I liked him too much. _All the more reason to end things now,_ I thought viciously; I straightened up and squared my shoulders, gathering my courage. _If you stay with him, he'll only hurt you more. It would be much worse to hear him lie. Just end it now. There's nothing else you can do. _

"Good luck, hun," Sarah said. She gave my arm a reassuring squeeze before departing to head over to her second period. I made my way to the girl's locker room, changing mechanically into my gym shorts and tank. It was a brisk day, but I could hardly think about the temperature what with my impending heartbreak hovering over me. _Don't think too much about it,_ I thought to myself. _You'll only bring on a meltdown if you do. Relax for a sec._

I followed my own advice, focusing individually on my actions. I slipped my running shoes on with care. My fingers were precise and deliberate as they tied the laces. I stood up slowly, gathering up my hair and twisting it into a messy bun. A few frizzy curls dangled around my face. Even for a breakup my hair just wouldn't cooperate. If there was one thing I could count on, it was the disobedience of my hair. I walked over to the mirrors beside the lockers. I looked like any other girl at first glance— except for the tiredness in my eyes. I made sure to hide it as best as I could.

_Do I look like I'm ready for a break up?_

I let out a little giggle at the random thought in my mind. Uh—oh. Already my defense mechanisms were kicking in, working to protect my heart and mind from extreme duress. Or emotions. _Same thing, really._

There was no time left for stalling. Class was going to start. I walked with the crowd of girls exiting the locker room, swallowing down the taste of panic in my mouth.

He was already sitting on the bleachers when I spotted him. He caught my eye immediately. That right there was enough to almost break my resolve. I tore my eyes away, ripping the connection. My nerves began to simmer into anger. I'd be damned if he could change my mind with just one look! I was stronger than that! I couldn't lose my head that easily. There was no chance for us. What we had— it was over the second he'd touched _her_ lips with his.

"Alright class, you know what to do," barked Coach Valencia. "Line up in your places on the track, four laps, and try to beat your last record. This is timed, but not officially."

I marched over to my line, muscles tense, ready to run, shoulders squared. I was so nervous and anxious I could've peed myself on the spot. _Don't think,_ I told myself. _Don't feel. Just run._

I could feel his presence a few spots away, his eyes boring into the side of my head. I refused to look at him. I knew that if I did, I'd lose any and all nerve right then and there. And I'd hate myself and him for it later.

"Go!"

With the tweet of the whistle, I shot off like a rocket, leaving Bryan and everyone else behind. The adrenaline coursing in my veins seemed to chase away any thought of him in my head, and I could feel myself letting go and getting lost in the sensation of the wind whipping through my hair, the pounding of my heart, the roar of blood in my ears as I pushed myself harder than the times before. I was finished a whole ten seconds faster than my usual time, which was a bit of a miracle considering I didn't know I could go any faster than I'd already proved.

"Great job, Naomi," Coach crowed in admiration. "Go sit on the bleachers in the field. We're gonna have a free day today. Not much we can really do since our break is only two days away. We're just gonna chill till then."

I nodded, bending over with my hands on my knees. I was breathing hard, but the ache in my lungs felt good. I was buzzing with energy, all the way down to my toes. I was more alive for those few seconds than I'd been in a long while.

And then, once I'd taken my seat on the bleachers, it was over all too soon. I felt him coming closer like an icy prickling on my skin. He seemed almost _palpable_ in the air. I put my head in my hands, eyes closed, waiting for him. My heart was pounding in my chest, but it wasn't from running like before. This was much, _much_ worse. My breath came in shallow intakes by the time he sat down beside me.

"Hey," he said. I could hear worry in his voice. He didn't even know I suspected him. That much I could tell. Especially when he laid a hand on my shoulder. "Are you okay?"

I let out a low breath, cursing myself when it shuddered its way out. Lifting my face out of my hands, I shifted so that I was sitting facing him at a little more than arm's length. If he noticed the distance, he didn't show it.

"I'm fine," I said, forcing a smile. _Time to put on the best performance of your life,_ I thought. I opened my mouth to begin, but he beat me to it.

"What happened last week?" he asked. His brows were drawn together in concern and confusion. "I went to the bathroom, and when I came back, you were gone. Did you get sick or something?"

And that right there was the match to gasoline. The fire of anger blazed inside of me with such intensity I had to force my hands to unclench and relax, had to force my breathing to remain steady. There was a hazy red tint to my vision as his words replayed in my mind. How dare he. _How. Dare. He._ How _dare_ he lie to my face after all we'd been through?! He _knew_ how I felt about lies— did he think he could get away with it now that we were together? _Not for much longer. _

"It took you twenty-five minutes to go to the bathroom?" I asked innocently. He was going to face _hell_.

His mouth twitched in what seemed like embarrassment. _Bullsh*t._ "Uhm, heh," he stuttered. "That was a… complicated time for my stomach, I guess."

God, was he even _trying?_ He wasn't even the least bit convincing. I wasn't sure what would've been worse: him trying his absolute best at selling his lies, or this flimsy defense he was barely attempting to keep alive. As it was, the latter was painful enough to bear.

"Uh—huh," I said, sounding completely unconvinced. "Well, I wasn't sick. Not at all. I left."

He seemed frozen, waiting for me to continue. "Why?" he asked tentatively when I didn't.

"There was this… horrible smell," I said, scrunching up my face and wrinkling my nose to sell it. "I couldn't handle it. I just _hate_ the smell of _cheaters._"

His face was stuck between realization and confusion. Then he frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"Tell me, Bryan, did she smell nice? Was she a good kisser?" I ignored his question, crossing one long leg over the other and resting my elbow on my knee, bringing my hand up to cup my chin thoughtfully. "You certainly looked like you couldn't keep your hands off of her that night."

"Naomi," he said, "I don't know what you're talking about." But his guilty tone said it all.

"Like hell you don't, Bryan!" My hand slammed into the bench I was sitting on, startling a flock of birds hiding underneath the bleachers. I scowled fiercely. "Stop lying to me! I _saw _you! Behind the restaurant near the dumpster, kissing that girl. I saw you— you can't deny what I saw."

Bryan looked stricken at being caught in the act. My heart seemed to crack inside. Well, at least he was no longer denying it…

"Naomi, listen to me," he said, rising out of his relaxed perch on the bench. "You don't know what that was—"

"Don't even try to convince me otherwise," I scoffed. The anger, once surging and burning in my veins, was waning fast. I could feel my emotions slipping through. I steeled my heart against them, squaring my shoulders. "I know what I saw. I know exactly what that kiss was."

I took a breath. My eyes stung. _This is it._

"That was the end of this relationship."

To my dull surprise, his breath caught. An expression of pain and panic passed over his features before it turned pleading. "Naomi, please," he said. He came toward me, taking my hands in his. I leaned back, feebly trying to push him away. I was losing momentum. "Don't do this."

I gave a harsh laugh. "Funny. I could've said the same thing behind that restaurant." I backed away, disconnecting our hands. I'd lose it if he touched me again. I knew I would.

Hurt flashed in his expression. I wanted to laugh out loud. He'd cheated on me, and he had the audacity to feel _hurt_? Obviously he didn't care that much about me if he was willing to kiss another girl behind my back and then _lie to my face_ about it afterwards.

"It's over, Bryan. Obviously, I was wrong to think you cared about me as much as I cared about you. I just— _why?_ Why did you do it? Am I not good enough for you? Was I too boring? I _saw _you. I watched you kiss her. I watched you put your hands all over her, and then I watched you try to erase the evidence before you went back inside to see me. What— no. I don't care. I _don't care anymore._" A traitorous tear fell; I scrubbed it away impatiently. "Goodbye, Bryan."

I turned away from him. The others seemed to be drifting back toward the gym. I was about to leap down from the bleachers when Bryan caught my arm, spinning me back to face him. His eyes, sad but alert, were scanning my face.

"Naomi, please," he pleaded. "I'm sorry, so sorry. I didn't want to hurt you. I—" he cut himself off abruptly, his eyes latching onto my face. Particularly my eye.

I wrenched my arm out of his grip, but the damage was already done. "Naomi," he breathed. "What happened to your face?"

I leapt down from the bleachers. _Stupid,_ I cursed myself. I'd scrubbed the makeup off a little with the back of my hand. "It's none of your concern," I said, walking briskly away, praying he would just drop it. He followed closely, tense as a bow.

"You _are_ my concern," he said roughly, reaching for my arm again.

That sparked my anger again. "Not anymore," I reminded him angrily, pushing him back. "Leave me alone, Bryan."

"Naomi—" he began.

"No!" I walked a few steps back, traitorous tears spilling onto my cheeks. I wearily noted that I was going to have to have Sarah fix that. "You don't get to keep your hold over me. You ended this the moment you stepped out to see her. I'm just making it official. Stay away from me. Don't try to convince me to take you back, because I won't. This is it. It's _over._"

And with that, I ran back to the gym, changed quickly into my clothes, and dashed into the girls' bathroom, locking myself in a stall. I sat on the edge of the toilet, trying to keep myself together. There were girls out there, chattering to each other by the sinks. Being surrounded by people made things even worse. I felt like my world was crumbling beneath my feet. Sarah couldn't come to my rescue this time. We only had ten minutes between passing periods. Not nearly enough time for anything to be resolved.

I focused on my breathing. My heart was beating like a hummingbird trapped in a cage. I was crying, silently, stifling my sobs as best as I could in the sleeve of my sweater. _It's done; you did it, it's over. _I felt anything but relief. There was an eerie feeling of emptiness— no, not emptiness. Rather, it was as if I were missing a piece of me, an important limb. It was that phantom-limb sensation I was feeling. He was gone, sure, but he'd taken a part of me with him.

The bell rang then, sending everyone off to their classes. I was going to be late to my third period, but that was no matter. The teacher hardly cared about me— I doubted he'd really notice anyway. I wasn't sure how badly I'd messed up the makeup, but I couldn't imagine that it had remained the way it had looked this morning. Between my tears and sweat from P.E., I'd need a ton of luck to fix it.

I emerged from the stall to inspect the damage. I let out a sigh at the sight. Of course, I'd just about cried my whole face off. The foundation, concealer, eye shadow— it was all messed up. Forget luck, I thought as I prodded at the smeared substances on my face. I needed a miracle.

Like a blessing from above, my miracle walked right through the door. I stepped back from the sinks and whipped my head over to see two of my classmates from third period walking in with makeup bags in their hands. Melissa Stork and Jeanie Marie. They stopped in their tracks at the sight of me, puffy-eyed and bruised. Their mouths slowly began to form words.

"Naomi?" Melissa said in disbelief. Obviously she wasn't used to seeing me this way.

"Are you okay? What's wrong?" Jeanie moved towards me, and like breaking a magic spell, they both came up to me whilst I tried to hide my face away from them.

"I'm fine," I said, turning away. I tried—and failed— to discreetly wipe my eyes.

Jeanie snorted. "Sure you are. That's why you're definitely sweating out of your eyes." I glared at her, but she smiled sympathetically at me, unfazed. "What… what's with the bruises?"

I looked away, conveying that I didn't want to talk about it. They seemed to get the message, sharing a look between each other.

"Well, do you need any help? We came in here to touch up our makeup, but I don't think he'll notice if we're gone for another five minutes." Melissa shrugged, holding up her makeup bag and jiggling it slightly.

I frowned slightly in confusion. "You… you would help me even though you hardly know me?"

Again, they shared a look. "Well, yeah," Jeanie replied, giving me a weird look. "You need help. We can't just ignore that." And with those words, she gently prodded me over to the sink, gestured for me to hop onto the counter, and unzipped her bag, Melissa following suit.

They set to work quickly and efficiently, removing all traces of the old makeup before starting with the new makeup. All the while, they chattered to each other and to me, commenting on things like my complexion, my eyebrows, and the way my voice sounded nothing like what they'd expected. I didn't say much more than a few grunts and yes-no answers as they worked. After about five minutes of them working on me—done about three times as quickly due to more hands and experience—they finished and invited me to look. It looked perfect now, my face and neck seemingly unbruised, my eyelids covered in a dark purple eye shadow. They'd reduced the puffiness of my eyes as well, which was quite nice of them. The only way you could tell I'd been crying was the pink tint of my eyes, but that was easily hidden.

I only hoped nobody accused me of doing drugs.

That thought roused a little giggle, but I suppressed it. Now wasn't the time.

We made our way back to the classroom. I walked a little behind them, watching as they laced their fingers together between them. I gave a rueful smile. Our teacher let us in once we knocked; I noticed that before they went inside, they let go of each other, taking a half-step apart to create space. I frowned a bit. How sad.

"There you are, Miss Coranda," Mr. Phillips said. "I was wondering if you were going to join us for class after all."

I merely looked at him. I opened my mouth, dreading that I'd have to answer, but I didn't even have to worry.

"Stomach problems," Jeanie said. "She was feeling a little sick during transition, and we found her in there."

"Hm."

Seeing that he wasn't going to say anything else, we went to our respective seats. I looked at them both when they turned back to look at me. _Thank you,_ I mouthed. They smiled and nodded. But they didn't know the depth I put behind the words.

* * *

><p>Lunch finally arrived. Sarah met me outside my last class, linking her arm with me. She gave me a reassuring squeeze as we made our way to my locker. He was there of course. He looked so remorseful—<p>

"Be strong," Sarah whispered. She had an angry expression on her face, glaring at him the whole time we were walking. My heart stirred in my chest, but I tried to force the nerves done. I'd told him to stay away, and he didn't listen. Obviously I had to fix that.

_I'm trying_, I thought helplessly.

"I told you to leave me alone," I said in a low voice when we made it to my locker. I acted as if he wasn't there, calmly putting things away in my locker.

"You have to hear me out," he said, voice equally low. He had the good grace to look affected by Sarah's death glare.

"I don't _have_ to do anything," I said, temper sparking. A lance of pain flashed through my chest. "I told you to stay away, and I meant it. How much clearer do I have to be?"

"Naomi—"

"_No._ We're done. Don't you get it? You cheated on me. I _definitely_ don't appreciate that. I'm done with you. Okay?"

"You won't even let me explain myself," he argued, green eyes flashing with stubbornness.

I glared, own blue eyes flashing with anger and hurt. "I don't _want_ you to explain yourself. It's _over._ I don't want anything to do with you! Just leave me alone and stay away from me. Don't— just don't. I'm too tired for this." _I don't want you,_ I thought, but didn't say. It felt like a hypocritical slap to my face.

Bryan was rigid at my words, panic and disbelief registering in his expression. "Take that back," he whispered; he sounded like the wind had been knocked out of him. "Take that back! I can't— I can't—"

Despite my alarm and heartbreak at his anguished expression, I steeled myself and whispered back, "Not a chance."

And with that, I slammed my locker shut and walked away, Sarah by my side.

"It's a good thing you guys kept your voices low," she murmured as we made our way through the crowd. "Don't think anybody heard you."

I'd completely forgotten about the other people in the hallway. I was glad for our silence too.

"Where are we gonna eat lunch?" Sarah asked suddenly. "I mean, I doubt you wanna go into the cafeteria and sit at the table…"

That she was right about. I frowned, thinking. The library was always open. Then again, they didn't allow food in the library. And we couldn't bring food out of the cafeteria anyway. I wished we'd thought this through earlier.

"What if we drove out somewhere? Like, I don't know, the Borderline? Or Enzo's?" Of course she was following my train of thought. We were so in sync, and I was glad for it.

I shrugged, but nodded. Tons of students left campus to eat all the time. What was one more pair?

We turned around, heading down the main hall when it happened. I looked up from my boots and caught Keith's eyes as we walked in his direction. There was a girl talking to him— Felicia Charter. She was handing him a little flyer, talking his ear off; I could tell from his expression: polite interest, but his pleasantness was a touch overdone. It was the way he got through things like street vendors or door—to—door salesmen and the like. We'd run into them a lot when he and I had gone to Delphic Amusement Park in the summer when we'd dated.

She finished talking to him once we were ten feet away. She turned and walked in our direction. Her expression was smug, and I realized the flyers in her hands were invitations. To a club. For her birthday. All of this I saw at a glance. _Stupid supervision._ I knew she was going to rub it in that we weren't invited, but that was when it happened. I caught Keith's eye again; he winked at me, my heart tugged, and then he glanced at Felicia for a split second. He walked past us, toward the cafeteria.

Her expression, when she reached us, changed dramatically. The smugness melted away, a dazed, vulnerable smile taking its place. She thrust two of the flyers at Sarah and me.

"Here." Her voice was almost eager, as if she were sincere. "Invitations to my party on Saturday. You should come, both of you. It would mean a lot to me." She flashed us a smile again.

Sarah and I were, to say the least, gob smacked. What the hell? Twelve years of hating us and now all of a sudden we were all good friends? This had to be a trick. There was no way this was real. In sync, Sarah and I pinched each other. Nope, still awake. _Holy crap._

"Uhm, thank you," Sarah said as we took our invitations. Felicia nodded, a high-pitched _Mhmm!_ coming out of her mouth as she moved on past us. She didn't turn back until she reached the cafeteria doors, where she stumbled a bit, looked at us, and then shook her head, putting one hand to her temple.

Sarah and I looked at each other, eyes wide. Neither of us had an explanation for what had just happened. We made our way to Sarah's car and drove out of the parking lot, hoping to beat the rush hour at Enzo's. What a weird incident. I glanced again at the invitation and caught something that made me snort in amused resignation.

"What?" Sarah asked, glancing at me.

I showed her the flyer. In slightly smaller print than everything else were the words, in all caps and fancy font: TWENTY DOLLAR ADMISSIONS FEE.

"Typical," we said in unison. I shook my head. Some things just never changed.

I relayed the whole break-up to Sarah once we were seated at the restaurant. She listened attentively the whole time, reaching forward to clasp my hand when I had to stop for a second to regain my composure. I hated how vulnerable I felt; I hated that I let him make me feel this way. But I was filled with a warm fuzzy feeling at Sarah's understanding and acceptance. Since day one she's been by my side and I wouldn't want anyone else but her to take that place. She was worth more to me than anything the world could offer.

By the time we'd had our lunch and made it back to the school I'd calmed down some. Until I realized that I still had biology with Bryan as my partner. The thought of having to even sit near him after second-period was enough to put a bad taste in my mouth and make me seethe with loathing for my Bio teacher, but I needn't have worried so much. He didn't even come to class. I wasn't sure if what I felt was relief or disappointment.

He didn't show up the next day, or the day after that to either of the classes we had together. I wasn't even sure if he came to school. All I knew was that on the last day before break, two days after our break—up, there was a definitive, empty ache in my chest and an impending sense of dread hanging over me. I couldn't tell if the feeling was due to his absence, but it put me on edge for the remainder of the week, even after we went off for break.

During those two days, however, I realized that rumors got around _a lot_ faster than I thought. Rumors about our break-up… and my pregnancy.

Yeah, you read that right. A rumor had spread around that I was pregnant, late to third-period because of morning sickness. According to the grapevine, Bryan was the father, and he'd broken up with me because he didn't want to handle the responsibility of being a father and raising our unborn child. I was left to pick up the pieces of our broken relationship and was considering leaving the school and town to start a new life. And also, apparently, suicide.

This last one enraged me; suicide was _not_ a thing to play with or joke around about. It brought a sickly feeling to my stomach that they would spread such serious and false lies. Luckily, I was blessed with the chance to clear up the confusion.

On the day we would get off for break, I was greeted at my locker by a smiling Mary Swayne holding a giant white balloon with little pink and blue foot—and hand—prints stamped all over it. She her eyes lit up when she saw me, and stepped aside for me to open my locker before thrusting the balloon at me.

"These are for you," she announced, grinning brightly. Felicia was nowhere to be seen, but she had amassed an audience; people were leaning against other lockers and huddling around to see. "Congratulations! How far along are you? It totally sucks that Bryan skipped out." She put on an unconvincing sympathy pout.

I seethed inside with a quiet rage I almost couldn't contain. Sarah was trembling, a terrifying look on her face, but before she could do anything, I reacted.

I gave Mary a 100-watt smile, taking the balloon from her hand. The pair of scissors from my locker was in my other hand before I —or anyone else— could comprehend what was happening; I jammed the scissors into the balloon, my smile dropping into an icy glare the second it popped. At my glare, everyone but Sarah took a step back.

"I'm not pregnant." My low voice was almost deafening in the now—silent hallway. "Don't go spreading rumors about things you don't even know anything about. Nothing you've heard about me is true." I glanced at the crowd, catching myself. "Except for the end of my relationship with Bryan. That one was true."

Now, sitting on Sarah's bed on Thanksgiving, I pressed my cool fingers to my temple. In just two days would be Felicia's birthday party at her dad's club. Sarah and I had decided we would go, in the hopes that it would "lift my lowly spirits." (Her words, not mine.) Whilst going to a party celebrating the sixteenth year of our arch-nemesis's life wasn't really at the top of my list of Things I Want to Do on a Saturday Night, I appreciated the sentiment behind her gentle prodding that we should go. Besides, it wasn't like we were going to be doing much anyway.

"Naomi? Sarah? Will you help me set the table?" Sarah's mom called from the kitchen.

Sarah, who had been taking a little nap, bolted upright at the sound of her mother's voice. She whipped her head towards me, grinning in excitement. "Food!" she exclaimed, and dashed out the door. I followed behind her at a considerably slower pace. Her excitement over food was contagious, my mouth watering at the delicious smells wafting from the kitchen.

"Boys, girls, hold hands now," Mrs. Johnson said, grabbing hold of her husband's hand. "We need to say grace."

Thanksgiving with the Johnsons was a lot different than it was with the Corandas. The conversation was lively, laughter was bright and taunting, and there was even food thrown around the table. The twins were caught and half—heartedly reprimanded for launching mashed potatoes, peas and carrots, and other lighter foods across the table at each of us with their silverware. It was a different experience altogether; the complete opposite of a Coranda Thanksgiving. The Johnsons had… _fun._

Not that it wasn't fun with the Corandas; it was just more subdued. There were only three of us, after all. We had our own kind of fun, I supposed. Back when the world made sense.

Somewhat.

_Thinking about them is… not as bad as it used to be._ I'd had some distance from them, which seemed to be good for my mental attitude for them. Of course, I still wanted nothing to do with them, but at the moment they weren't at the forefront of my mind. For once, in a long while.

Before my thought process could continue, Sarah emerged from the bathroom, hair in a bun and face freshly washed.

"So, you're _sure_ you're okay with going to the club on Saturday?" Sarah plopped herself beside me on her bed, climbing under the covers and nailing me with a concerned, yet stern look. "I don't want you being all selfless and just coming along 'cause you think it'll make me happy. I want you to be happy too," she murmured earnestly.

I gave her a smile that felt forged on my lips. "Of course I wanna go," I reassured her. I leaned closer to her, throwing one arm across her torso. "The sooner I push him from my mind, the quicker I'll get over this. And the sooner I get over this, the more we can think about how to fix this problem about my parental lineage."

"Yeah," Sarah agreed, sighing long and soft. "That's still a problem."

"Tell me about it," I groaned. "The last time I had any contact with them was when I discovered I had a _grandmother._" Blythe's face burned on my eyelids when I blinked. I still remembered her strong grip on my arm, her words laced with trust that whatever I did, she knew somehow that I would make the right decision.

But was I making the right decision now? Was avoiding them at all costs and basically free—loading at my best friend's house really right? What path or choice could I make to fix all of this? The situation was ridiculous! Both sides were stubborn: I refused to associate with them or accept the fact that they had the slightest possibility of being in the right for hiding me at birth and burying me in all these lies and deceptions; they wanted nothing more than for me to comply and follow them to a new, guarded life. As if they thought that they could just drop in, announce that my whole life was a lie and they were my real parents, and I would suddenly want to drop everything else from my life that I knew and throw it away to go with them and start all over again. This time, with them in the picture as my real parents. As if they thought it was _that_ easy.

Easy and I had never been close friends in situations like this. Not that there had really been _any_ like this, but you get my point. I never made things easy when I had a strong sense of will. They wanted control, but I was _not_ going to be controlled.

"I wonder what they did today…" I couldn't stop the traitorous thoughts in my head about them. What _had_ they done today? Did they celebrate Thanksgiving? Did they have a dinner for just the four of them? Had they put the thought of me to the back of their minds and focused on something else they enjoyed?

"Well, whatever they did, it wasn't nearly as much fun as what we did," Sarah said, bumping my shoulder playfully. There was a sluggish lilt to the movement though, alerting me to the fact that my eyelids were drooping. "Goodnight, Omi," she yawned.

"Goodnight…"

* * *

><p>"I wonder what she did today," Nora said aloud. The woods surrounding her, dark and looming, offered no response.<p>

But her companion did.

"She probably had fun today with that friend of hers," Dante Matterazzi, her second—in—command, replied, leaning lazily against a tall cedar tree. At Nora's insistence, they'd come out to the woods to train with him for the upcoming war that she'd sworn years ago to her late biological father she would try to win. The seemingly heavy weight of the world weighed down on her shoulders. The Nephilim race depended on her sole capability to lead the Black Hand's army in a war against fallen angels. Without her to lead them in the Black Hand's place, they would lose against their possessors.

She'd managed to keep her position in power for the past eighteen years, constantly reminding the most respected Nephilim officials that the army wasn't big enough, nor was it strong enough. There were more soldiers to recruit, more training to initiate, more strategies to come up with. It was a miracle she'd held out for so long. But now they were done with her excuses, demanding that she finally show leadership and command her army the way they believed she should have since the beginning. War was nearly upon them. Two weeks away, in fact. Not that this was surprising. Every year during Cheshvan, all the Nephilim who had yet to swear an oath of fealty went underground to hide for the two weeks of the cursed cycle, using devilcraft to keep themselves hidden from fallen angels. It was never an easy feat, and this year they were not longer hiding. They _refused._

Nora could see where they were coming from; she too had lived over a decade of her life hiding from people who wanted to kill her and the people she loved. Deaths had to be staged and identities had to be changed to free them from that life of hiding, but she'd decided that she was done hiding. Like her Nephilim people said, it was time she took action to win this war.

"You're right," she answered quietly. The image of Naomi flashed through her mind; she was the perfect blend of her and Patch's genes. She had his black hair with Nora's crazy curls, eyes blue as her own, but with Patch's reticent nature and intense perception that took everything in yet revealed nothing. Her legs were long and lean with developed muscle from her athletic activities, and her skin was as olive tan as Patch's. And despite all these similarities, Naomi was her own person on the inside. Sure, she'd inherited her stubbornness from both her parents, but she shined with such bright intensity that it made you want to look away; yet you couldn't. Every aspect of her demanded attention, as much as she didn't want it. _That_ almost withdrawn trait she got from her father, but her taciturn personality was completely her own.

A different thought struck her. "You know," she said thoughtfully, "I never really thanked you for getting all those pictures of her. You kept me somewhat in the loop with that was going on in her life when Patch and I couldn't be there. So… thanks for that."

It was true what she said: Dante had been the undercover photographer who'd followed Naomi around and taken all those pictures of her as she lived her normal life. Those pictures were what kept Nora and Patch sane while they lived under the radar and escaped thousands of failed kidnappings. He was their only connection to their daughter in that time of darkness.

Dante, standing up from his tree, shrugged a slightly disinterested smile on his face. "It was definitely interesting," he remarked. "She doesn't seem to have many abilities besides speed and strength. At least, none that I've seen. Don't think she knows anything about mind-speak, nor mind-tricks. She… seems human." He sounded almost puzzled. "That's weird. Almost like your supernatural genes canceled each other out."

"That's not the case, I'm sure," Nora disagreed. It was weird to her that he seemed to think about her daughter in such depth. "She definitely does _something_ with her mind. And I don't think it's a mind-trick. It's almost like… a defense mechanism. To keep people from playing mind-tricks on her." She studied his expression.

She thought she saw a flash of surprise and mild irritation, but before she could be sure, he'd wiped it clean, his face expressionless.

"Interesting," was all he responded with. But then he said, "Do you want another bottle of the super-drink?"

And just like that, a painful gnawing sensation stabbed at her stomach. She had an incredibly strong craving for the blue substance in the bottle he was holding out to her. As composed as she could, she reached for the bottle, summoning all her self-control to stuff it in her gym bag and hide it from her sight. She knew she was addicted. She knew she'd lied to Patch about taking the antidote. She knew that devilcraft— and now Dante — were probably not to be trusted. And yet, she kept shoving those thoughts aside in favor of consuming the toxic liquid behind everyone's backs. The guilt was eating her alive— but not as much as the pangs of addiction gnawing at her gut.

"See you for training tomorrow early, then," Dante said; there was a flash of something unreadable in his eyes as he studied her— satisfaction? Pleasure? But it was gone, and so was he, before she could get a closer look.

* * *

><p>"This is the place?" Sarah yelled over the booming music driftingout of the club. She bounced her car into a parking spot before I could respond that yes, this was the place. Climbing out of the car, we came around to the front and gazed at the building of flashing lights, loud rap music, and the smell of cheap liquor. Someone, I suspected, had probably brought their own. Probably more than one person. I could now detect the smell of vomit.<p>

"So," Sarah said. She didn't say anything more. I could sense her nerves as potent as mine.

"So." I cleared my throat, clenching my hands to stop the slight tremors. "This is what a party looks like."

Now, now— despite what you might think of us, Sarah and I weren't losers at our school. We had other friends, we were involved in clubs, and we'd gone to little house parties here and there. But we'd never gone to parties like _this._ Alcohol in abundance, sweaty bodies gyrating all over each other in a stifling crowd, vomit underneath or on your shoes— this wasn't our usual thing. And yet— here we were.

"Let's get this over with," she muttered under her breath. Heads tucked down, we made our way over to the doors. There was a line and a bouncer at the door with a clipboard full of pages, presumably a guest list.

He stopped us at the door. "Names?" he grunted. His breath smelled of cigarettes.

"Sarah Leann Johnson."

"Naomi Jarene Coranda." I almost stumbled over my last name.

He scanned the list—wouldn't it have been the ultimate stab for her to have given us invitations and not have put us on the list— seemed to find what he was looking for, and then stepped aside to let us in. "Enjoy."

The humidity was so _strong_. That was the first thing I noticed. The second thing I noticed was the amount of people. The building was huge, easily three stories tall; by the level of noise, I knew the top two floors were being used as well. The first floor was _full_. It was as if Felicia had invited the entire school body to her party! Granted, as we walked in I could see several freshmen manning stations of food and drinks. The things freshmen would do to get in on an upperclassman party could get downright shameful.

"Heeeey!" came a voice from behind us. At this point, we had migrated toward the left side of the room. Sarah and I turned to see Jessica Absher, an old friend of ours from junior high. She had a red SOLO cup in her hand, and even before she reached us I could smell the stench of strong alcohol all over her. One glance at Sarah told me she smelled it too.

"Congrats at making it in here, you guys!" She slung her arms over our shoulders; the girl was in heels, but even without them she was still too short. We might as well have been holding her up— which we were, she was so drunk. Compared to my five—foot—nine and Sarah's five—foot—eight, the five—foot—one girl was tiny. Of course, I had super—genes to thank for that. I winced at the nauseating thought.

"You guys," she slurred, taking one arm off my shoulder and pointing at Sarah and me individually, "look _hot._"

I was wearing black fishnets, black knee-length high-heeled boots, a black form-fitting t-shirt, and a leather jacket topping it off. My makeup—courtesy of Sarah—was dark and smoky and, "hard and edgy" (Sarah's words, not mine). Sarah was wearing a white t-shirt, dark skinny jeans, and ankle boots with a thin high-heel that made me anxious just looking at them. Her makeup was much the same as mine, except that hers lacked the "edginess" that she created on mine by sharpening the angles in my face. All this we wore at her insistence that if we were going to do this, we might as well have as much fun as we can.

"Thanks," Sarah shouted back at her over the music. It was a good thing the makeup was waterproof; I could already feel myself working up a sweat in the thick of the crowd.

Jessica opened her mouth to respond, but I knew already what was about to happen; her face immediately went slack, and she lurched to the side, vomiting in the place I had pulled Sarah from seconds before it happened. The people in the immediate vicinity created a wide semi-circle around her and gawked. I dragged Sarah behind me into the crowd.

"What do we do now?" she shouted over the din of the club.

I looked around at the scene. Faces with intoxicated smiles and sweaty bodies pressed in all around us, jostling us to the beat of the song playing at the moment. The smell of alcohol and vomit and B.O. and mingled perfume invaded my nose and every other sense I had. I felt myself melt into the crowd, felt myself respond to the beat of the song, in sync with the slight race of my heart. The energy of the crowd, as drunken as it was, was contagious.

"Dance."

* * *

><p>~0~<p>

Sweat dotted my forehead and back. Sometime during the night I'd ditched my leather jacket under a table, stashing it with tons of others, including Sarah's. We'd been dancing for over two hours, the alluring energy of the dance floor calling to our very souls. It was a shame we weren't invited to that many parties. This was the kind of energy we lived for.

"Babe, I'm gonna take a break, alright?" Sarah shouted over the music to me once we'd officially hit the two and a half hour mark. I wasn't tired yet, but that was because of my stamina— though I wasn't sure if it was the stamina I'd built with exercise or the one that had come with my genetics. Either way, I could've gone on to hours still.

"Okay," I hollered back. She looked like she needed one. Her hair was plastered to her forehead, her shirt was sticking to her skin in certain places more than others, and she was breathing hard. I felt a little pang of guilt for not suggesting a break earlier; just because I could go on for hours didn't mean she could.

"I'll just roam for a while, then," I told her. She nodded, and then weaved her way through the crowd to find a seat. I turned in the opposite direction, trying hard to avoid being grinded on by other bodies. Eventually I decided to try the second floor.

The stairway, as my luck would have it, was literally covered in couples getting—for lack of a better word—_intimate_ on the steps. To say the experience of getting around them was awkward was putting it lightly. The staircase stopped at one landing, where the doorway to the second floor room was, and another landing to continue up the steps to the third floor. The second floor was actually a bit calmer than the first. There were more tables—though no one was sitting on them—and everyone was on the smaller dance floor dancing to the same music. I scanned the crowd, catching familiar faces, until I stopped on one that made my heart stop and my blood freeze in my veins.

Tanned skin. Dark hair. Sharp Italian features. Very tall, athletic build. There was no denying who it was—especially by the hard, searching scowl on his face as he scanned the crowd. It was _him._ The man from the woods.

At the internal realization, my body unfroze, hiding behind the other bodies in the room before his piercing gaze could sweep over me. My palms began to collect nervous sweat. I had to get out of here before he saw me. I didn't know why the urge was so strong, but I knew that something bad would happen if I didn't follow my instincts. I twirled around; making sure my hair hid my face, I stepped toward the stairs—

And immediately crashed into another solid, hard body. The force of the collision made me stagger backwards until a pair of strong, confident arms encircled me, pulling me flush against the other person. My head tilted up and my heart lurched. Of course. It would be just _my_ luck.

"Hey," Keith said, "where's the fire?"

I was absently surprised by how well I heard his voice over the blaring of the music from the speakers about fifteen feet away from us. Maybe it was just that all my senses were hyperactive at that moment. Whether it was because of his arms around me or the adrenaline from the fear of getting spotted by Mr. Italian Stalker, I didn't know.

"Under my ass," I quipped. My hands, on their own accord, came up to rest lightly on his biceps. His hands were warm on my sides; I hated that I noticed. A hot restlessness settled in my stomach. I needed to leave before he _found me._

"Hmm." With a mischievous glint in his eyes, visible even in the darkness of the club, he leaned over and cocked his head to the side, inspecting my butt and letting out a sound of approval. I smacked him upside the head, my cheeks flushing with indignation. "I one-hundred percent agree. That ass _is_ on fire."

"Pervert!" I jerked back and swatted him again, but this time he caught my fingers in his own, husky, musical laughter escaping his lips and lighting up his eyes. I hated the way my skin tingled where it touched his. I hated the butterflies erupting within my stomach. I hated that with only a few words and touches he'd nearly caused me to forget the man from the woods across the dance floor. I also hated that, even after all this time, it was all too easy to slide back into our familiar rhythm.

"Seriously, Keith," I said, the smile slipping from my face as I pulled away from him. "I need to get out of here." The _fight-or-flight_ instinct returned again, full force.

"Why? What's wrong?" In one swift motion, he scooted us inside the crowd, hands light yet reassuring on my hips. I saw his motive: he was hiding us, making us blend in with the crowd. We were less visible now. Thankfully he had me turned away from Mr. Italian Stalker.

The concern in his voice was loud and clear, but could I trust him? I definitely didn't forget that he'd crossed me once so many years ago. I didn't know him that well anymore. For all I knew, he was a changed man. But, on the other hand, he may not have changed for the better. Was he trustworthy? I didn't know.

He must've seen the conflict in my eyes, because he then said, "You know you can trust me, don't you? I'm always here for you, no matter what. I know I made some mistakes back then when we were—well, you know." He gave me a meaningful look, eyes full of sincerity. "But there isn't a day when I don't think back on that and regret it, Naomi. You have to know that. I don't expect you to forgive me, but please know—you can trust me."

I drank in the information. Now this just made my confliction even worse. I mulled it over, weighing my options—I could let him help me and escape from the man, or I could suffer on my own and push Keith away like I probably should—when all of a sudden, a rush of calm certainty washed over me. _Trust him,_ a soft voice whispered in my head. _He just wants to help. You can trust him._

Shaking my head to clear away the fog, I nodded at him. "There's a guy at the bar behind me," I said, flicking my head in the right direction. "He's really tall, dark haired, looks kinda Italian. You see him?"

Keith subtly surveyed the area I'd indicated. While I had described my stalker, I caught a flash of something in Keith's eye—recognition?—but it disappeared before I could verify what I'd seen. That seemed to be happening a lot lately. I mentally scowled.

"I see him," Keith said, eyes locked on something behind me.

"I need to get out of here," I said, squeezing his shoulder to convey my urgency. "This is the second time I've seen him— the first time was in the woods across my house. I don't know why, but I just get a really _bad_ feeling about and around him. I felt like he was looking for someone—_me._ I just—I really need to go. _Now._"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Keith said, stopping my rushed advance toward the door. "Relax. If you try to leave the way you are right now, you'll cause a scene, and he'll find you. Just dance with me for a second. We're hidden enough to the point where he can't see us, but we can see him. The smoother we make our getaway, the higher our chances are that he'll leave without ever finding you," he reasoned at my protests.

I squinted at him, weighing my options and sighing when I realized he was right. If this was going to work, I would have to _trust_ Keith—and hope he wouldn't betray me in the process.

So, ignoring the fluttering feeling in my stomach, I forced my muscles to relax and slid my arms tentatively up to his shoulders and around his neck, lacing my fingers together at the nape. Our bodies swayed to the rather slow beat of the music. It had a Latin twist to it, a romance song for sure. I breathed in a deep breath, filling my lungs—accidentally—with Keith's scent. Memories from a long time ago drifted back to mind. Happy ones, sad ones, and crazy ones all the same.

_You shouldn't be doing this. This is crazy! What you had with him ended a long time ago._

But… had it really ended? Had my feelings really died with our relationship? Was it as over as I thought it was-back then and even now?

_No._

Desire, just a hint of it, coiled low in my stomach. I lifted my head to look at him only to find that he was already looking at me. The look in his eyes told me he was feeling the same way.

Suddenly, he spun us around; I was now facing the doorway and he had his back to my stalker. He turned me around in his own arms with my back to his chest, his hands on my hips as they swayed and jerked smoothly to the rhythm of a Shakira song. His hands followed their movement, and my arms suddenly found their way around his neck from behind. I felt his fingers graze my skin on my lower abdomen; his touch left a trail of fire in its wake.

"We can leave now," he whispered huskily in my ear. He moved us through the crowd, coming to my side and slinging his arm around my waist as we walked. On the first floor, people were leaving, sober friends lugging their drunken friends to the exits. Keith tugged me over to a clean, secluded corner of the room. Despite all the other people in the room, when I looked at Keith, it was as if we were the only two people in the world.

"Sorry about all that back there," I coughed, jerking my thumb toward the stairway we'd come through.

Keith shook his head, a small frown on his face. "Don't be sorry," he said casually. "I rather enjoyed it."

I smirked knowingly. "That's because you're a pervert."

"Hey," he said, hands up to his shoulders, "I can't help the effect beautiful girls have on me! Well, it's actually just the effect this one girl has on me."

We were seated on the floor, Keith's back against the wall, with me by his side. I unconsciously scooted closer, ever so slightly. In response, he shifted his body toward mine. We moved like magnets, responding to each other without even knowing it.

"Really." I eyed him warily. I steeled my heart against his charm for the moment, wondering where he was going with this.

He nodded, never breaking eye contact. "Yeah. I really, really like her. She's the smartest, funniest, strongest, most beautiful girl I've ever met. But I made a really big mistake some time ago, the worst mistake I've ever made, and I hurt her. I don't expect her to forgive me, or trust me, or ever let me in again, but if she did-I would do my absolute best to make sure that I never made that mistake again." A pained look twisted his expression, but it was gone in a moment.

My heart, despite its defenses, tugged at his words. He shouldn't have been able to have this effect on me. I was supposed to be over him by now. It's been over a _year!_ Where was my strength? Where was my cold, hard heart? Why did I feel this yearning for him, even after what he'd done in the past? Sure, he was apologizing, but it was too late. Wasn't it?

"Keith," I breathed, and my eyes fluttered when he reached over and traced my jawline with the tip of his finger.

"I missed you, Naomi," he whispered. "A lot. You have no idea how much I missed you." He shut his eyes. I brought my hand to his cheek, feeling the light splash of stubble under my fingertips. His eyes fluttered open, his desire mirroring my own.

_Kiss him… _

And before I knew it, our lips collided together in a heated, searing kiss.

Where kisses with Bryan had been electrical, kissed with Keith were fiery and fierce. His lips were just as I remembered them; always slightly chapped, but in an endearing way that I'd loved so much. My eyes fluttered shut, and at the gentle prodding of his tongue to my lower lip, I opened my lips, slowly and teasingly. His lips smiled against mine, which mirrored the action. My heart fumbled in my chest, beating overtime as he raked his hands up my sides, down my back, through my hair-the fire was _everywhere._ I couldn't get enough of him, tracing my hands over the planes of his face, arms, neck, though his hair. I broke away to breathe, his mouth continuing a trail of kisses along my jawline, down my neck, and back up again. Every nerve ending in my body hummed with approval.

_I never realized how much I'd missed this,_ I thought.

I kissed him again, a few soft pecks on the lips. My hands lingered at the back of his neck, playing with the ends of his shaggy hair. He smiled, and placed a sweet kiss on my nose. Our eyes were half-lidded, our breaths heavy, softly giggling at each other. Somehow I'd ended up straddling his lap, one leg on either side of his hips; the hand on the small of my back pressed us close together, faces mere inches apart. I could feel his heart through his chest, beating as fast as my own.

"I missed you too," I confessed, voice breathy and small.

Keith reached up and tucked a curl behind my ear. "You have me," he murmured, "for as long as you want me. I'll be here." He kissed me again, a soft, sweet peck that lingered even when he pulled away.

Back in Sarah's room once we'd left, I realized something, tracing my lips with a finger and snuggling under Sarah's blankets as I told her everything.

My heart, for the first time in what seemed like ages, felt… whole.

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><p><strong>AND CUT.<strong>

**OMG YOU GUYS, I AM SO SORRY FOR THE LONG WAIT! Hopefully you guys haven't all forgotten this story *crosses fingers for the unlikely***

**There isn't any time for spell or grammar check, as I want to get this up ASAP because you guys DESERVE it after a FULL YEAR of waiting. Sorry if things are messy, I just wanted you guys to have this. I might go back later and revise things. **

**This chapter was soooo hard to write. Ugh. Break-ups are hard. :(**

**Please review, even if it's to tell me you hate me for making you wait so long. Reviews mean the world to me, and so do your messages telling me to hurry my butt up. It's usually you guys who keep me on track (although it would help if I logged in more often). In order to enhance this little system, I have social media links for tumblr and twitter on my profile page, so if you have either, you should check it out. I'm more active on tumblr, though, just saying.**

**(Also, yes, I was formerly "Forever-Musical-Alee" and am now "Introvertedly-Browneyed-Writer")**

**I love you all, and I am so sorry! **

**Ciao!**

**~Alee V.**


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